Daisy Duke, But Not Really
by McGinnis INC
Summary: I have an axe. Be jealous. DarylOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: So. This happened. Oops. My life. Zombies give me nightmares. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I just like bad boys. Maybe I just like Daryl Dixon. Maybe Daryl Dixon gives me nightmares. It could really be any combination there of.**

**Why do I only write when men give me grief? I'm probably projecting my own issues. Probably.**

**Let's see what happens, shall we?**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

"She is definitely not a goody-two-shoes!"

"Nah, girlie, yer friend is a classic good girl," Merle argued.

Amanda shook her head so fast her blonde hair smacked her tanned cheeks. "Meg!" she called.

The other girl sighed and put her basket of clothing down. With heavy feet, she came around the other side of the tent. They probably thought she hadn't been able to hear their conversation, which was a rather stupid assumption considering that the Dixon brothers had situated themselves a good distance from the rest of the campers, to the point that there was no audio interference… and also, Merle's voice could carry across a black hole. They had been debating for the past ten minutes about whether or not Miss Meg Flanagan was a good girl or not. And really, it made sense that that kind of subject was up for debate: she was rather quiet with strangers and looked like the girl next door, while Mandy had known her for years now and had cleaned the puke out of her hair. They had history.

Shuffling around the other side, Meg was surprised to find that Daryl was sitting next to his brother on the log beside the fire. She hadn't heard him say a word in the discussion – then again, he was pretty preoccupied with the squirrel he was cooking.

"Meg," Mandy repeated as the brunette approached. "Merle here thinks that you're a good girl."

"Well, that makes sense," Meg shrugged. "I don't think I'd make a very good boy."

The two Dixon boys snorted and Mandy just glared. "Wise-ass," she muttered. Then she demanded, "Show them your tattoos."

"How do my tattoos demonstrate my bad-assery?"

"Agh, specifically Merle feels that I am more of a bad girl than you are," she explained. "But you have like, three tats and I have none."

"Well," Meg turned to Merle. "Are tattoos a sign of being a bad girl?"

"Typically," he drawled.

Lifting her tattered shirt (it was a work shirt, she honestly didn't care about it's condition) she let the group have a view of her newest tattoo: a list of initials down her ribs. Then she yanked her stained jean shorts down a bit in the back to reveal a shamrock formed by Celtic knots and then finally she let them glimpse her very first tattoo: a daisy on her hip.

"A daisy?" Merle gave another loud snort. "Yeah, that's badass, if I ever seen it."

"What if I told you it's actually a gang tat?" Meg flicked her eyebrows up and down.

"A gang?" the big man leaned back and crossed his arms. "Tell me more."

"Yeah, we were called the Daisy Dukes and we sold drugs and defended our territory."

"Drugs? Territory?"

"Caffeine and the fifth floor of the library - it was the perfect place to study."

Merle laughed – well, more like barked. "Girlie, you ain't even close to badass!"

"Hey," Meg smiled, shifting her pants back into place a bit. "I'm not the one trying to prove anything. Take that up with Mandy, here." She pointed to her friend and decided she should get back to her work.

"Will do, Daisy Duke!" Merle laughed at her retreating back.

Meg just smiled and kept walking. He was probably her favorite person in the camp, though she would never admit it. Sure, Glenn and Dale and Amy and Andrea were all nice enough and she very much enjoyed hanging out with the younger kids, but there was just something about the Dixons that entertained her. It also helped that they had wormed their way into the heart of Amanda. If there was anyone Meg would follow to the ends of the Earth, if only to make sure she didn't do something crazy and get herself killed, it was Amanda. They went back as far as freshman year in college. They had barely finished their sophomore year before the world ended. It hadn't been a long friendship, but it was a deep one.

Originally from the suburbs of Chicago, they had attended a college in central Illinois. When shit happened, they tried to make their way north – back to their families, but the suburbs had been evacuated to the city. Chicago had fallen differently than the other major cities. Most of the other majorly populated areas had fallen from the inside out, and then reached the suburbs. Chicago had been able to keep itself relatively uninfected, but its suburbs had become affected and then spread northward. By the time they managed to get up to a few towns south of their hometown, they realized just how overrun it was and that people were now trying to escape the city. Nowhere was untouched, but it hadn't been safe for them to continue north. Amanda had had family in Georgia, and so they headed downward. A few nights on the road later, and they had been just outside the city of Atlanta when Meg had come face to face with a crossbow. A quick squeak of, "Not a walker!" was probably the only thing that saved her.

They had been with the camp for only a few days, but already Amanda had gravitated to the Dixon boys. And Meg knew why: she had always been a wild child and had always had a thing for bad boys. Also, Merle had pretty quickly realized that Amanda was missing her Mary-Jane and had offered her a dip in his "medicine stash." Perhaps the fact that Meg had turned down the stuff, preferring to be pretty clear-minded given the end of the world, had convinced Merle that she was a good girl.

Whatever.

* * *

Amy and Meg made their way up the hill, back towards camp together. The blonde was great fun and they were close enough in age that Meg could relate to her relatively well. They had just reached the crest of the hill when they nearly bumped into another figure.

Daryl Dixon was carrying his crossbow and bolts down to the quarry. He paused to observe them, his face neutral before he gave them a nod of acknowledgement, and continued his journey.

"So, what is with you and Amanda and the Dixon brothers?" Amy asked once the aforementioned Dixon brother was out of earshot.

"What do you mean, what is with us?" Meg hiked her basket up a little higher on her hip. "Amanda likes hanging out with Merle, and I like hanging out with Amanda."

"That's not the buzz around camp," Amy smirked.

"Then the buzz is wrong," Meg insisted. "I think I've said all of five different sentences to Daryl and Merle is… Merle."

"That's one way to describe him."

"That's the only way to describe him."

"You know," Amy edged in as they began hanging the clothes up to dry. "They aren't very well liked."

"Who?"

"The Dixon's," she clarified.

Meg glanced across the camp, into the distance where the Dixon brothers had set up their own area. Well, that didn't surprise her. They hadn't taken the time to get involved in the camp, preferring to stay by themselves. And when they had interacted with the group, Merle was always mouthing off racist comments or sexist innuendos. Unless you looked closely, you couldn't tell that for the most part he was high when he was the most vocal. It didn't excuse his actions, but for Meg it put them in a different light. And besides hitting on her a bit, he had never done anything mean to her. She could live with that.

"I know," she shrugged.

Amy stared at her for a brief moment, over the clothesline. Opening her mouth, she was about to say something and then seemed to change her mind because her jaw snapped shut with a click and she just shook her head.

"Guess what?" Sophia came bouncing up to the two older girls.

"What?" Amy played along, abandoning her clothes for a moment to lean over the younger girl, hands on her knees.

"My mommy counted, and it's my birthday today!" she announced, giving them both a huge smile.

"So, what're you now?" Meg joked. "Five? Six?"

The girl apparently didn't appreciate the joke as she scowled and put her hands on her hips. "I'm twelve," she declared. "Which is double six. Are you stupid?"

Meg made a droopy face, "I. Am. The. Stupidest," she said in the lowest, deepest and slowest voice she could manage.

Sophia giggled and was about to say something, probably to further insult Meg, when her father called her from their tent. Meg didn't miss the way she tensed and glanced fearfully in that direction. When she hesitated, Amy suggested, "You should probably go." And go she did, her shoulders bent in submission.

"I don't get it," Meg muttered. "All Merle does is hit on women and make racist comments. And that's almost exclusively when he's high. Ed hits his wife and daughter and everyone seems to like him a whole hell of a lot more."

Amy didn't make a comment.

* * *

Meg had been saving it for later – like a special occasion or something of the sort. This world meant that it was in low supply and she didn't know when she'd be able to get more. But desperate times called for desperate measures and she was well aware of the fact that she had spent twenty years with it and now it was time to pass it on to the next generation.

Grabbing the chocolate bar she'd been saving, she put it in her pocket.

Quickly, she located her target, all alone and vulnerable.

"Sophia!" Meg called. Squatting down, she looked up at the girl. "I've got a present for you," she said as she pulled the chocolate bar from her pocket. "Happy Birthday, Sophia."

She was instantly rewarded as the girl's face lit up. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"You're twelve," Meg pushed the bar into the girl's hands. "You only turn twelve once. And it's your special day. So, yes I am sure."

Sophia waited until the woman stood back up before she hugged around the waist, nearly knocking her over. Meg laughed and patted her head. "Thank you," she whispered into Meg's stomach.

"You're welcome," Meg responded out of habit. As Sophia bounded off, she watched her leave, running a hand through her loose hair. Then, she decided to go find Amanda and bask in her good mood. It was good to know there was still happiness in the middle of the apocalypse.

Of course, when she didn't find Amanda in their own tent, she knew to look over by the Dixons.

"Well, well, well," Merle drawled and let his eyes glide over her figure. "Look here, Miss Daisy Duke back ta darken our doorstep."

"We are all living in tents," Meg snarked, sitting down beside Amanda. "No one has a door to darken."

"Wise-ass," Merle muttered.

Amanda gave a giggle and even Daryl glanced up at his brother with a smirk. That movement caused Meg to look over at the younger Dixon. He was cutting into a dead squirrel. Ick, she gave a shudder. Back at home, she used to have squirrels that lived in the trees. She had grown attached to those creatures. It was bizarre watching someone kill and gut one of them… let alone eat it later.

Daryl glanced up to see her watching him with disgust. Immediately, he was offended. "Ya got a problem?" he asked.

She shifted her attention from the dead squirrel to the hunter who was gutting it. Before she could say anything though, Amanda cut in with, "Before this whole zombie business, she was a vegetarian."

Both brothers looked at her like she had grown a head out of her ass.

"Ya was one a' them seaweed eatin' freaks?" Merle asked as Daryl got back to his work.

"I have never, to the best of my knowledge, eaten seaweed," Meg crossed her arms.

"So, ya was just starvin' yerself?" Merle scoffed. "Bitch is crazy."

Meg was going to let it drop, deciding that it wasn't worth getting involved in a discussion about. She ate meat now – it was actually most of what she ate at this point. There wasn't much she could do about it. And she had always told herself that if it meant her survival, she would eat meat in heartbeat.

Apparently, Amanda had other plans. "God Meg, I nearly had him convinced that you weren't a tightass!"

"Who tha fuck doesn't eat meat?" Merle pointed at Meg. "A good girl, that's who!"

"No!" Amanda stood up and pointed at Merle. "You have forced me to bring out my secret weapon!" She sat back down and crossed her legs. "Let me tell you a story about this supposedly "good" girl. The day before a very big midterm last year, Meg and her boyfriend got in a fight."

"My boyfriend?" Meg interjected.

"Fuck buddy, whatever."

"Just keeping facts straight." Which was true. Anyone who met Meg would wholeheartedly testify that she must had had boyfriend after boyfriend after boyfriend. No such luck. In high school she was both too shy to talk to boys and too invested in other activities to bother with boys. She also was a terrible flight risk – first sign of getting too attached or things getting too complicated, she was gone. By the time she got to college, she was so behind the curve, she just jumped from having a steady boyfriend, to casual drunken sex. It worked very well and she was still able to focus on her other activities.

"Anyway," Amanda continued. "Fuck buddy. They fought. Then she went over to his apartment and they made up. Next day, I'm waiting for her outside the classroom before the midterm. She's late, so I just go in. Test starts, she still isn't there. The test was super hard and I finished after fifty minutes. Get out of class, call her to ask where the fuck she is. All I hear on the other end is, "Fuck!" then a yelp and then she hung up." She laughed a little to herself, as she had always found this last part to be the funniest. "Ben hadn't set his alarm and they had slept in!" Clapping her hands, she recalled, "Next thing I know, there goes Meg – in nothing by a sports bra and men's boxers, right into the classroom with only fifteen minutes left. She takes the test, leaves the room, passes by and says, "Pardon me" before she stumbles into the bathroom to throw up!"

Merle let out a bark of a laugh and hit his knee a few time. Meg even heard Daryl give a chuckle.

"How badly did ya bomb that test?" Merle asked when he had caught his breath.

With a look full of conspiracy, Meg raised her eyebrows at Amanda. And the blonde said, "It doesn't matter," at the same time that Meg said, "I got a ninety-five percent. An A."

This only sent Merle into a greater craze of laughing. "Good girl!" he said, pointing a meaty finger at her. "Gooood girl, Daisy Duke!"

All Meg did was smirk at Amanda as the other girl glared back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I in no way shape or form condone drug use. Just a forewarning. Just something I felt I should mention. So kids, don't do drugs. It'll screw you up.**

* * *

Daisy Duke But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

Somehow, later, Merle and Amanda had gotten into a mock battle regarding which was better: ecstasy or cocaine. Meg couldn't say she was capable of talking in depth on that subject so she contented herself to laughing inwardly at their antics before turning her attention to Daryl. He was lounging in a lawn chair, a beer in his hand. Like Meg, he was watching his brother and Amanda debate.

Having grown up upper middle class, Meg didn't have much exposure to the lower classes. She'd never thought less of them, per se, but she just had never gotten much of a chance to interact with that group of people. There was something refreshing about the way the brothers acted. They were crass, they swore like sailors, they didn't bullshit. That was the thing that stood out to Meg: the lack of bullshit. Back home, at her college, with her extended family – it was all about the bullshit. It was all about going one-up on your neighbors, convincing your peers that you had more money than you actually did. And the compliments! Even though you knew they were bullshitting you, you were obligated to play along. But the Dixon brothers were different; they spoke straight up and Meg respected them immensely for that.

There was also that aura of "bad boy". A forbidden fruit. Merle might have been more attractive when he was younger, but he had let the world beat him up a few times and he had suffered for it.

Daryl was immensely attractive. Well muscled from the construction work he had done before the world ended, well tanned from the Georgia sun. Even his grooming, or lack there of, suited him so perfectly. He had just that light sprinkling of hair around his mouth and up his cheeks. Dirt seemed to stick to him like a magnet to a sheet of metal, but it always managed to brush his cheeks and fit the contours of his face and body in such a way that it distinguished his shape. There was also this face he made, this squinty face where his cheek muscles pulled up and his forehead came down and he just looked intimidating. And maybe the fact that she found him to be so attractive was what also made her find it difficult to look at him.

He had a nasty habit of glancing at her and bringing her right back to her shy high school days.

Meg didn't know how long she'd been staring at him until he took a sip of his beer and caught her looking.

"Hey!" A voice cut through the camp, saving Meg from thinking of an excuse for her staring. "You!"

A finger was pointed at Meg. And that finger was attached to one Mr. Ed Peletier. Meg blinked at him for a second and then stood up. "Yes?" she answered, as he came stomping through the underbrush.

"Did you give my daughter this?" he asked, whipping the half-eaten chocolate bar out of his pocket.

"Yes, she told me it was her birthday," Meg explained.

"And what made you think you could give my daughter sweets?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"I just said: it's her birthday. It was a birthday present."

"She ain't allowed sweets," Ed threw the bar into the fire.

_Well, that's a waste of chocolate,_ she thought.

Out loud, however, she said, "I didn't know that and she didn't say."

"'Course she wouldn't say she wasn't allowed chocolate," Ed argued. "Kids are greedy." He allowed his frown to deepen slightly a bit before he shifted to turn around. What an ass. She was almost shocked speechless, but as always, she was able to grasp the words in her head and spit them out:

"Not sure you're aware," she said, forcing Ed to pause. "But the world ended a month ago. I _highly_ doubt that she has had any sweets since then. Unless she is lactose intolerant or just generally allergic to anything in that candy bar, there is absolutely _no reason_ for her not to enjoy some chocolate on her birthday."

Ed shifted all the way back to facing her square on. Something in his face frightened her. He took a step forward, and she responded by taking a step back.

That was the curse of Meg. She had a very nasty habit of getting into situations that, in the beginning, were very easy to get out of. But inevitably, something would challenge her: an obstacle, a cause, an asshole like Ed Peletier. And then she would be totally unable to allow herself to back down. Sometimes she would rather die than back down. And even if she was in over her head, she would still be totally convinced she was fine… up until the challenge turned into a threat and then someone would have to help her out of it, or she'd suffer through it. At the end of the day, she'd still claim that she had it under control the entire time, though. Amanda called her immature every time a situation like that occurred but at the end of the day, Meg figured there were worse things she could do.

In response to Ed's threatening body language, both brothers rose to their feet and Meg could feel the warmth of the fire being obscured by what she could only assume was Merle's body as he came closer.

"Nothin' wrong with a little girl havin' a candy bar," Merle said. "Wish yer little girl a happy birthday from me."

Meg watched as Ed's throat moved in a deep gulp. Then he glared, and left.

"Yer an idiot," Daryl muttered, plopping back down and picking his beer up.

"Excuse me?" she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yer an idiot," Merle echoed. When all she did was look at him, he sighed and shook his head. "Daisy Duke, ya ain't exactly petite –"

"Thanks," she cut him off.

"Well, ya got some meat on them bones – just bein' honest. Yer a solid lady," he shrugged. "But yer all fragile like. And that man over there, he is a huge motherfucker. Ya piss that fucker off, ya wouldn't last a second."

"So I'm just supposed to sit there and let him be an ass?"

"Nah, yer supposed to come get yer friend, big ole Merle and I'll deal with him," Merle gave a toothy grin. His expression coaxed a shy smile out of Meg and she sat back down.

"That's so cute," she said, patting his arm as he sat next to her. "You're under the delusion that we're friends."

The redneck chuckled at her sarcasm and handed her a beer. Daryl also let out a chuckle and Meg tried to ignore the fact that she was able to recognize his laugh out of all the other ones.

And suddenly, it didn't matter that no one else liked these two men. Yeah, they weren't family men and they had a habit of talking dirty around and about women – totally abandoning a façade of southern gentlemanly charm, but at the end of the day they were a whole hell of a lot nicer than a whole hell of a lot of people back at the main part of camp.

Meg sipped gratefully at her beer and smiled.

Later that evening, Merle and Amanda had snuck into the Dixon's tent to snort something or another. Neither Daryl, nor Meg were interested and instead chose to stay outside around the campfire – now less of a fire, more a pit of embers.

Meg poked at it gingerly, just to keep it going.

Daryl was sliding his knife over a stick, shaping the wood under his fingers. When he noticed her watching, he glanced up, his face all squinty. "What ya lookin' at?" he questioned, pausing his work.

"I was watching you," she answered truthfully, though suddenly her throat felt dry. Damn it, where was the girl who had no problem dragging a boy into a closet and fooling around? She could have sworn that at one point she had some kind of confidence, some kind of sexual prowess. How did this man reduce her to a stuttering schoolgirl? It wasn't the age difference. He was what – 10 years older than her? No biggie.

That answer didn't satisfy him.

"And why were ya watchin' me?" he gestured with his knife to prompt her.

"Because I was thinking."

At his scowl, she realized that he thought her short answers were a result of her trying to tease him or seem mysterious or some kind of bullshit like that – not a result of her shyness.

Clearing her throat she added, "I was wondering what you were making. That's why I was watching you, I was trying to figure out if I could guess before you finished."

"Spare arrow," he muttered, returning to his task.

He was bent over and Meg could see nothing except his strong shoulders and the top of his head covered with sandy hair. Deciding that wasn't a worthwhile view - not in comparison to other views she had had of him - she leaned back and took in the night sky. Damn it, there was nothing like a starry sky. Back home, they were too close to the city and stars were a thing of bedtime stories about cows jumping over moons. It was truly beautiful.

She must have let out a sigh or something because he shifted his gaze up to her.

"City people," he shook his head. "They're always lookin' up and gaspin' and sighin' and thinkin' it's so amazin'. Nothin' much ta see."

"There is a lot to see," Meg argued. Then she glanced back up. "It's not like I know what exactly there is to see, though. I never bothered to learn the constellations. I have a friend back home - well she's probably not back at home anymore, but that's where I knew her from. Anyways, she has a telescope and she probably knows what each individual star is called." Meg smiled wistfully. "I have so many freckles, I've always kind of wished that a patch of them would form a constellation or something. The closest I've ever gotten was Orion's belt on my wrist… not that impressive though, because it's just a line of three dots in a row. So nothing special. I wish I could find Orion," she sighed and finally bothered to look down.

The hunter was staring at her like she was a two-headed squirrel. Well fuck. She goes from not talking at all to rambling her little head off. Right, just the way to seduce a man. Yup.

Daryl finally looked away from her as his eyes shifted upwards, and he squinted at the constellations. "He's right there," he used his knife to point.

"Who?" Meg asked, still recovering from her embarrassment.

"Orion," Daryl groaned. "Yer Orion and his belt are right up there." He jutted his knife upwards again and this time Meg tried to follow the path.

"You… are going to have to be more specific," she finally admitted.

"Right. There." He gave two juts with his knife.

Meg debated briefly the merits of just going, "Right, yes, I see it now. Thank you so much Daryl. You are too kind. I appreciate your efforts." But apparently Daryl was well aware that Meg had no idea what she was looking at.

Standing up with a huff, Daryl sheathed his knife and let his spare arrow fall to the ground. He stalked around the campfire and then came up behind Meg. She could feel the heat as his chest brushed up against her back and he grabbed the side of her head with both his hands and shifted the position of her neck. He paused, and then shifted her head a bit to the right.

"There," his breath brushed the shell of her ear and she shivered. His hands slip down her head, smoothing her hair and then landing on her shoulders.

And there it was.

She could make out the chest, the reaching arm, the legs.

"The hunter," she whispered. She turned her head and nearly bumped foreheads with Daryl – he was that close. Startled momentarily she finally spit out, "Right? He's the hunter."

"Yeah," he also kept his voice hushed. His breath smelled like beer has it fanned out across her face.

A giggle erupted from inside the tent and the two sprung apart. The next thing either of them knew, Amanda and Merle came stumbling out of the tent, both as high as kites. Meg spared Daryl one last glance before she retreated back to her own tent.

* * *

The next morning Shane called a meeting.

"Supplies are low," he announced.

And low, they were. Merle had been quite upset when he realized that he had given Meg the last beer and had instead chosen to dive into his stash to make up for it. There was also a need for more medicine, specific medicine. And water. And food that wasn't squirrel. Basically, there were things that had been depleting rapidly and needed to be replaced.

"And how are we supposed to fix that?" Ed asked, arms crossed, leaning against a truck.

Shane chewed at the inside of his mouth for a second. "We are closer to Atlanta than we are to any other place," he finally admitted. So that was his hesitation…

"But that place is overrun with walkers!" T-Dog argued.

"But we're also running low on gas, it would be better to walk," Jim spoke up.

"And the only place we'd be able to get to reasonably on foot would be Atlanta," Meg finished.

"So we know we can get there," Andrea said. "What do we do about the walkers?"

Shane pointed to Glenn, "You were bragging a few nights ago that you know how to get around the city with your eyes closed. Can you get around the city if it's filled with walkers?"

The Korean blinked, realizing that he probably shouldn't have been bragging at all if it was going to come back and bite him in his ass like this. Glancing around the group, he noticed that everyone was focused on him, everyone thinking the same thing: if he could formulate a way of getting into and out of the city safely, they would be set on supplies for a good long while. Finally, he shrugged, "Yeah, I guess." His voice was weak.

"I'm not comfortable with this," Lori announced, hands on hips.

When Shane hesitated at her declaration, Meg held her breath. She, herself, was still rather indecisive about how smart this was. And really, she trusted Shane's judgment but she also very much admired Lori. The woman had lost her husband and still had the strength to do what was best for her son. She was also rather cautious and Meg could appreciate that.

"We need supplies," he repeated.

Lori frowned for a bit and then glanced off in submission.

"People will go only on a volunteer basis," Shane decided.

"Are you going?" Dale asked the smart question.

Shane hesitated again. "No, I think I should stay back."

"I'll go," Andrea raised a hand and stood next to Glenn.

"Me too," said T-Dog, also stepping up.

Jacqui was the next to volunteer, then Merle. Meg watched the suspicious eyes as the redneck stepped forward and she noticed how Daryl, too, noted the stares. Merle was running low, Meg knew that much because Amanda had mentioned it. Also, Merle was a fan of uppers… Without much further thought, Meg raised a hand and stepped up next to Merle.

"I'll go," she said trying to ignore how Amanda's fake tan face had gone white.

The departure time was set for early the next morning – a bit before sunrise to optimize the time spent in the city.

Meg was hoping she'd be able to walk fast enough to avoid looking Amanda in the eyes. She was unsuccessful.

"What the hell?"

"What about hell? I hear it's a nasty place," she snarked.

"Meg!" Amanda grabbed her arm and whipped her around. "Are you fucking psychotic?"

"I probably am," she shrugged, but avoided eye contact in general.

"Why would you put yourself into that situation?" Amanda asked. "It's dangerous! And you have no experience with the zombies!"

"All the more reason to get some experience," she decided.

"Meg!" she yelled. "Look at me!"

In silence, she turned around and looked at her from beneath her eyelashes. "I need to go. And you know why I need to go. You need your meds. You've been avoiding the uppers that Merle has, but you haven't been that great with making sure to stick only to the downers. Your heart can't handle it."

Amanda glanced back to make sure no one was listening in. "Don't say that so loudly," she whispered, tightening her grip on Meg's arm.

That's right, they had been keeping that a secret. Amanda suffered from a genetic condition called Marfan Syndrome. It meant that her connective tissues were particularly weak. It affected her eyesight, rendering her legally blind. Thank God they had saved her contacts and glasses. It also affected her heart. In the event that her heart rate was too fast, it would hurt the tissues in her aorta – a part of her heart, thereby hurting her body in general. For the most part, Meg let her live her life just the way she wanted to but sometimes she did step in. Amanda was very good about taking her medication and so Meg's only interference was usually in the form of reminding her to not take too many uppers in a row – as they were counterproductive to her medication. Lately, though, what with the end of the world and all that, her medication hadn't been available. But she'd been able to keep her heart rate down using a combination of alcohol and some downers that Merle had.

They had chosen to keep her condition a secret for fear that the group would view her as a burden and liability and just kick her out.

Which was exactly why Meg had to be the one to go into the city – she couldn't tell anyone that either she or Amanda needed prescription medication for an underlying medical condition. Kinda defeated the purpose of keeping everything a secret, right?

"I'm going," she said. "I don't tell you what to do with your life, don't try to tell me what to do with mine."

Amanda let her go and sighed, "You don't tell me what to do – but you always make sure I'm alive. And I refuse to let you risk your life for the sake of _my life_."

"Too late," Meg kept walking. "I'm not changing my mind," she said over her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Well. I guess this is a thing now. Oops. It happened. It will continue to happen.**

**Wasn't until I went to post that first chapter that I realized I probably should have come up with a better summary. But, like, I think it just works. I was sitting in my room yesterday and discussing with my roommate what we would use as weapons in a zombie apocalypse, using only the things in our room. First, I assured her that I would leave her in the event of a zombie apocalypse because she is slow as fuck. Then, I realized the best object that could be used as a weapon during a zombie attack was the vacuum. This saddened me. I would rather have Meg's axe. So, really – I'm actually jealous.**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

Things that Meg was used to waking up to:

1) her cat licking her face

2) her alarm clock

3) the light streaming in from her window

4) her mom calling the family for breakfast

5) Amanda telling her it was time to leave the party

Things that Meg was not used to waking up to:

1) Merle Dixon grinning down at her like a demented clown in the pre-dawn lack of light, crooning on about how, "Daisy Duke didn't need no more beauty sleep".

A scream pushed it's way out of her mouth and she shot up, only for Merle to push her back down, his hand over her mouth.

"Shut up!" he hissed. "Damn, Daisy Duke, ya got a mouth on ya!"

When he released her she sat up gingerly and asked, "Why are you in my tent?"

"Ya volunteered ta go inta tha city. We're leavin' soon. Time ta get up, girlie."

He nearly stomped on Amanda's still sleeping head as he left the tent. Groaning, Meg grabbed her tangled hair and pushed it to the nape of her neck. Twisting her hair in sporadic yanks, she contrived her hair into what might have once been mistaken for a French braid. Then she crawled around the tent, looking for what she needed: her bag. She stumbled out of the tent with her bag and in the moonlight sorted through it.

"Oh," she let out in realization before popping back into the tent and grabbing her weapon of choice: a careworn axe.

That damn axe had been with her since shit hit the fan. It had been lying on the side of the road, having fallen beside a dead and decaying body. Amanda had commented that it hadn't done the man much good, so why pick it up? Meg just liked the way it felt in her hand. She felt safe. So, she took it with her. Hadn't had to use it yet, but maybe one day it would save her life. If she was walking into a place filled to the brim with zombies, she was going to bring her axe with her.

When she joined the group, Merle swung an arm around her shoulders. "Ya ready to die?" he joked.

"I gots me an axe," she lifted her weapon and gave him a grin.

"I gots me a gun," he showed her his weapon. "I think my babe'll do a lot more good than yers."

"Your weapon is loud," she argued.

"Can ya even lift that axe?" Merle tried to reach for it but Meg pulled it out of his reach.

"I'm not messing with your gun, don't mess with my axe," she snarked.

Merle huffed and pulled his arm from around her. Luckily, Shane took the opportunity to ask, "Everyone ready?"

They all nodded.

Then Meg realized that most of the camp was awake to see their loved ones off. Even Lori had stumbled out of her tent to see them off. Maybe Meg should have wakened Amanda? No, because she would try one last time to get Meg to stay. And maybe, what with her limps so weak with sleep and her head still so cloudy – she just might. Then, Meg noticed Daryl off to the edge of the camp. He must have come to see his brother off. They made eye contact and he nodded to her. She didn't know what else to do so she nodded back as a smile made its way to her face without her permission.

And with that, they set off.

It was decided that they didn't have to run and that it was actually probably better to walk briskly, to avoid drawing the attention of the walkers.

Glenn was at the head of the pack, followed by Morales and Merle and then Andrea, then Jacqui, then Meg, then T-Dog. Only Merle and Andrea were armed with firepower. At least T-Dog had some tools that could be used as blunt objects. Glenn and Jacqui were totally defenseless. Meg tried not to think about how vulnerable they were. All she needed was to get in and get any kind of downer.

"Lord," Merle muttered as they got closer.

Meg knew the feeling – it was totally abandoned. And that was spooky. Having grown up so close to a city, she was used to the hustle and bustle. To see the buildings, so tall and imposing, being totally empty – it was unnerving at best, terrifying at worst.

"This way," Glenn whispered, gesturing them to stay close. Despite the fact that Glenn was literally leading them, the way Morales kept glancing back and around and keeping people in line singled him out as the true leader. Meg vaguely remembered Shane putting him in charge as well.

Good, Meg realized. Without Shane there might have been some kind of power vacuum. Good to know Morales could fill it.

They had made it into the city just as the sun pushed itself over the horizon and still there weren't any walkers in sight. Meg let her mind drift briefly to the fantasy that maybe one day the walkers would just totally disappear.

Pushing against a wall, Glenn glanced around the corner. "Shit," he muttered. And swung back to the group. From how white his face had become, Meg knew that whatever was around the corner was probably not something they wanted to stumble upon. So, they took another route.

"This is a department store," Glenn explained as they entered a building. No walkers so far. That was helpful.

"Spread out and search for supplies?" Andrea asked out loud.

The group glanced at each other and hesitated. Jacqui spoke up and suggested, "Buddy system? Always have a buddy with you?"

That was something the whole group could agree on. Meg was about to slide up next to Glenn, figuring he would know his way around but Merle swung an arm around her shoulders and announced, "Yer with me, Daisy Duke."

"Are you sure you want me as a buddy?" Meg asked. "I'm not a very good fighter."

"I'll make up for it, promise," he insisted.

And while this wasn't the perfect situation, she could live with it. He might also be able to help her identify the kinds of drugs that would be best for Amanda, without asking too many questions. She also just felt safe with him. God, a big bad racist and she felt safe with him out of all the men in this group. There was something wrong with this picture.

They split up, each group taking a separate floor.

Meg followed close behind Merle up to the 7th and 8th floors, hoping that her heavy breathing wasn't going to draw too much attention to herself.

"Jesus, yer outta shape," he muttered over his shoulder.

"Not all of us can be ex-Marines," she shot back. "Eyes forward, soldier."

"Don't act like ya ain't enjoyin' yer view a' my ass, little lady."

"I'll check you out when I don't have to worry about walkers trying to eat me."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

The two floors they were assigned were clear of walkers. Once this was established, Merle paused, "Hey girlie, hold up for a second."

Whipping out a little bag, Merle dumbed a bit of white powder onto the oak table in the middle of what Meg could only assume was a conference room. He then pulled out a razor blade and used it to arrange the pile of white powder into two neat rows. Meg made her way to the door and glanced out to make sure none of the other campers would come stumbling in on the scene, just as she heard him take a deep snort. Drugs didn't bother her, but she knew everyone else might think it was a bad idea at a time like this. _She_ thought it was a bad idea at a time like this. But it was his life, let him do what he wanted.

"Thanks, Daisy Duke," he clapped her on the shoulder, and then wiped any residue from under his nose with the back of his hand.

"Welcome," she said.

And then they made their way around the room looking for useful things.

"I feel like this place has already been pretty much picked clean," Andrea announced when they all regrouped.

Morales nodded, "There wasn't much to find."

"So what do we do?" Jacqui finally brought up.

They all thought about it for a few minutes before Glenn volunteered, "I know the city like the back of my hand, I bet I could get to a few other buildings. But, I'd have to go alone – a big group would attract the walkers. I'm faster by myself."

"I don't feel comfortable letting you run around out there with no protection," Meg crossed her arms.

"Is that a rifle?" Jacqui asked Merle.

The redneck looked down his nose at her and almost didn't answer before finally giving a nod.

Jacqui turned back to the group, "What if we had Merle on the roof with his gun? He could keep track of Glenn and in a really sticky situation, shoot the walkers from a distance."

"Would the gunfire attract them?" Andrea asked.

"It would be a worst-case scenario thing," the black woman admitted with a shrug.

"Then take my axe, too," Meg handed it over to the Korean. "Aim for the heads," she reminded him.

The next thing Meg knew, she was standing beside Andrea on the first floor, being told that Glenn had company. She had been up on the roof with Merle before she heard the gunshots. Flying down the stairs, she reunited with the whole group to find that Glenn was on his way. Who was out there stupid enough to try to enter a big city with nothing but a gun for a weapon? Didn't people know better by now? Dumbfuck must have been living under a rock.

Morales and T-Dog suited up in some wrestling equipment they had found. Apparently there were also four walkers in the alleyway Glenn had used to get out and now needed to use to get in. The two men would have his back when he returned. Suddenly, they ran out the door and Meg tried to stick her head out in order to see what was going on. Jacqui pulled her back and when Meg turned to look at her, she only shook her head.

Her curiosity was quickly sated, however, as all four of them came stumbling into the building. Glenn, with a bag full of supplies and then T-Dog and Morales all decked out in protective gear and finally… a sheriff? The man was wearing a police uniform, but it was in more of a khaki color, the likes of which Meg had only ever seen in western cop movies. Sheriff, definitely.

Unfortunately, she didn't have much of a chance to observe him as Andrea grabbed him and threw him up against some cardboard boxes. She yanked her gun out and pointed it at him, "You son of a bitch, we outta kill you!"

That was apparently not what the man was expecting, his face dumbfounded and his hands coming up in a protective gesture.

Morales stepped up, "Just chill out Andrea. Just back off."

"Come on, ease up," Jacqui added.

Andrea turned to them. "Ease up?" she asked. "You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole."

Morales wasn't taking it. "Andrea," he ordered. "I said back the hell off." The furious woman didn't move. Shrugging off his vest, Morales then shrugged and challenged, "Well, pull the trigger."

That got her to back off. Pulling away with tears in her eyes, she announced, "We're dead – all of us. Because of you."

"I don't understand," the mystery man finally said.

Meg could sympathize. What was going on?

Glenn walked past her, bag over his shoulder… but he was missing her axe.

"Hey, Glenn?" Meg asked. "Where's my axe?"

He looked at the floor sheepishly, "I dropped it. We couldn't go up the ladder with it."

All she could manage was a pout. She honestly didn't have the energy to be upset.

"Look," Morales grabbed the cop on the bicep and dragged him to the front room. He explained, "We came into the city to scavenge supplies. You know what the key to scavenging is? _Surviving. _You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing. Not shooting up the streets like it's the O.K. corral."

They all stumbled into the main room and Meg suddenly realized the problem. Walkers were pressed up against the glass, trying so desperately to get in. The shots were enough to get them riled up. They might have even smelled them. Maybe they just finally took a look inside the glass. Regardless, they were now hungry and agitated and looking to get into a building that was by no means impenetrable.

Fuck.

T-Dog further explained, "Every geek from miles around heard you popping off rounds."

With a breathless voice, Andrea concluded, "You just rang the dinner bell."

"Get the picture now?" Morales put in.

Meg stepped forward to take a better look… the glass was already cracking under the weigh the zombies were applying. Shit shit shit. Mama said there'd be days like this.

Suddenly, a walker with a rock began smashing it against the glass. Meg jumped back just as Andrea let out an, "Oh my God." The whole group retreated back a few steps.

"What the hell were you doing out there, anyway?" Andrea finally asked.

"Trying to flag the helicopter," the man explained.

"The helicopter?" T-Dog was skeptical. "Man, that's crap. Ain't no damn helicopter."

Jacqui was the voice of reason, "You were chasing an hallucination – imagining things. It happens."

"I saw it," he insisted.

And maybe he had, Meg finally decided. "I believe you," she simply said. The look he gave her was full of appreciation.

"Hey, T-Dog," Morales pointed to the walkie-talkies Meg had forgotten they had. "Try that C.B. Can you contact the others?"

"Others?" the man asked. "The refugee center?"

"Yeah, the refugee center," Jacqui sassed. "They've got biscuits waiting in the oven for us."

Meg shot Jacqui a look and turned to the man. "There is no refugee center. None that we know about. We have a small camp outside the city and we've held up pretty well so far," she explained.

"Got no signal," T-Dog finally announced. "Maybe the roof?"

With perfect timing, a gunshot was fired, shaking the whole building. The bang was followed by a "Yee-how!"

"Oh no, is that Dixon?" Andrea grimaced and they all took to the stairs.

Shit, Meg cursed. Why had she left him up there alone? He knew he was only supposed to fire if it meant saving Glenn's life. Glenn was back safely! All he was doing was drawing more walkers! And he was high as a fucking kite – that much Meg knew. She had seen him take two lines. She briefly wondered how many more he had taken while he was alone. But, despite his drug haze, maybe he would listen to her. They were closer than a lot of the other campers.

Taking the stairs three at a time, they made it to the roof. Morales was the first one and he was quick to shout, "Hey Dixon! Are you crazy?"

All Merle did was laugh and shoot another walker.

"They'd make good target practice," was what he had said to Meg when they first got to the roof. Apparently he still thought they would make good target practice.

"Oh jeez," Andrea groaned.

Merle finally turned to them. "Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun," he joked. Maybe the others in the group didn't see it as a joke, but Meg could tell when he was just messing around. "Huh?" he jumped off the ledge to approach them. "Only common sense," he grinned. Yeah, she could tell there and then that he had had at least one more line when she wasn't looking. His eyes were so glassy.

T-Dog hopped over to him, shouting, "Man, you wasting bullets we don't even got!"

Then he made the mistake of getting in Merle's face. "And you're bringing even more of them down on our ass! Man, just chill!"

Meg came to stand right behind T-Dog, wary about the next few seconds.

"Bad enough I've got this taco-bender on my ass all day," Merle jerked his head to Morales. "Now I'm gonna take orders from you?" T-Dog looked away in disgust and Meg took another step forward. "I don't think so, bro. That'll be the day."

"That'll be the day?" T-Dog quoted. "You got something you want to tell me?"

Morales piped up, "Hey, T-Dog man, just leave it."

"No," T-Dog held a hand out to silence him.

Meg gulped. It was a well-known and established fact that Merle Dixon was a racist. He was even kind of a sexist. The camp knew that already and for the life of her, Meg couldn't believe that T-Dog was bringing this up now. Seriously? Let the sleeping bear lie until there weren't active walkers. Then, take it up with him back at the camp where someone with slightly bigger balls than Morales could nullify it. Granted, that would also mean that Daryl would get involved, but at least Shane would be there too. Just – not here. Not now. There were bigger problems.

"It ain't worth it," Morales tried to intervene again. "Now Merle, just relax, okay? We've got enough trouble." Meg nodded from behind T-Dog, hoping Merle would see and stop at least for her. He didn't even glance her way.

It was too late. In his coked-out brain, Merle could only focus on the fact that a black man had challenged him. "You want to know the day?" he asked, taking a step forward.

Meg took a step backwards, but T-Dog got right up in his face. "Yeah," he challenged.

"I'll tell you the day, Mr. Yo," Merle mocked. "It's the day I take orders from a nigger."

And then T-Dog did the stupidest thing ever – he threw the first punch.

Looking back on that day and the actions the group took and then later tried to redeem, Meg will always remember that moment: when T-Dog took the first swing. It didn't matter the excuses they came up with later. It didn't matter that Merle had been high and doing stupid shit. It didn't matter that the Dixon's kept to themselves. All that mattered was that T-Dog committed the first act of violence – the act of violence that lead to Merle reciprocating that violence, and then being punished for it by being left chained to a roof to die. It still made Meg sick to think about.

Ducking out of the way, Merle came up and hit T-Dog with the butt of the gun. Immediately, the group tried to intervene. But Merle was on a rampage. The stranger, true to his uniform joined the fray to keep the peace and was punched so hard he fell.

Then Meg did something stupid.

Without much though she tried to put herself between Merle and T-Dog. She figured he wouldn't hit her. He would never hit a woman – it was something that he had been very clear about in the past. He had no problem being vulgar with women, bordering on sexual harassment, but he refused to hit a lady. She thought she would be safe.

She thought wrong.

The first punch he delivered didn't immediately send her to the ground. Instead the blow cracked against her jaw and made her dizzy. The second blow bounced off the corner of her eyebrow. Stars exploded on that side of her face and her knees buckled. She could hear screaming and shuffling feet and flesh against flesh just before she could only remember darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Oh Lord, my week has been busy. And super hell-ish. I need a vacation. Summer can't come soon enough. Not even close to soon enough.**

* * *

Daisy Duke But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

There was no way to know for certain how long she was out, but as she came to, she recognized the sun streaming down onto her face. God, the hot Georgia sun.

"They see you, smell you, and if they catch you, they eat you," someone was explaining.

A groan pushed its way out of her mouth and she shifted. Suddenly a cool hand was being pressed to her face. "You're awake," was all they said. Meg recognized the voice as Jacqui's.

"Yeah," Meg gave another groan. "Ah shit."

"Welcome back," she smiled.

"I'm not sure I'm that happy to be back," Meg at least had the energy to joke. As she sat up, her world spun.

"How are you feeling?" the mysterious man came to stand in front of her.

"Did someone run over my face with a truck?" she asked, gingerly pressing against her swollen jaw. Then she realized she could barely see out of her right eye. It had been totally swollen over.

With a glare over at Merle, Jacqui spat, "Something like that."

"Daisy Duke!" Merle called out.

Meg turned to look at him and suddenly everything shifted into focus. He had been the one who hit her. Not just once – twice. With a glare at the Dixon, that made her eyebrow spike with pain, she allowed herself to be dragged to her feet and then she pointedly ignored Merle as she asked, "So what's happening with the walkers?"

"Daisy!" the redneck called again.

She still ignored him.

Glenn informed her that they had checked down in the sewers already and that had been a dead end. They were still brain storming.

The mystery man perked up, "They can smell us?"

"Can't you?" Glenn shot back.

"They smell dead, we don't. It's pretty distinct," Andrea explained.

A look came over the cop's face and Meg could feel the bad idea blooming.

* * *

Meg was gingerly touching her jaw, realizing that even though he had hit her on the left side, the pain spiked all the way to the right side. She hoped that didn't mean it was broken. Glancing into the dirty glass, Meg tried to make sense of her face. She looked deformed, she decided. Because she'd been out cold, she hadn't gotten to watch her face swell up and now just got to see the shocking after image. Her eye was shut tight and her jaw had also swelled up, making the left side of her face look droopy. Both were the lightest blue imaginable and Meg just knew she'd have to go through the entire bruise color spectrum before they healed.

With a deep sigh, she turned to the group as they dragged the walker in. Immediately, the smell hit her nose and she sneezed.

Everyone was in lab coats and gloves.

This was the stupidest idea ever.

"Excuse me," the cop said and Meg sidestepped to allow him to get at the axe inside the emergency box. With two sharp hits Meg's looking glass was cleared and he pulled the axe free. Maybe when this was all over, if they got out alive, she could have that axe to replace the one Glenn dropped.

No one said anything for a second, all just staring at the walker on the floor in front of them. Then the cop angrily lifted the axe and ran almost like he was going to smack it right down into the walker. Meg held her breath. But instead, he stopped. With a grunt he let the axe fall, and his visor too. Carefully, he picked through the walker's pockets till he found a wallet.

"Wayne Dunlap," he announced. "Georgia license. Born in 1979." He handed the license to Glenn. "He had twenty-eight dollars in his pocket when he died. And a picture of a pretty girl. 'With love, from Rachel'," he quoted. "He used to be like us. Worrying about bills, or the rent, or the superbowl. If I ever find my family, I'm going to tell them about Wayne," he said. Carefully, he replaced the wallet back into the pocket and stood up to retrieve his visor and the axe.

"One more thing," Glenn spoke up. "He was an organ donor."

Meg nearly snarked, "Well that makes this so much better!" But she didn't. Tension was already high and it hurt her jaw to talk.

The axe came down.

Oh Lord, was all Meg could think. With each hack, she twitched and her eyebrow began to throb. The whole group was groaning, all in unison with that axe. That goddamned axe. As the walker was split apart, Meg felt her stomach going weaker and weaker. Without much hesitation, she stumbled to the corner and threw up. Wiping her mouth, she grimaced and nearly vomited again.

The cop handed the axe and visor to Morales and encouraged him to, "Keep chopping." Then he turned his attention to the group, "Everybody got gloves? Don't get any on your skin or in your eyes."

Then with a deep breath, they all kneeled down and began to scoop up the guts. Meg held her breath and also approached the body. There was nothing else that would leave her stomach, anyways. Hesitantly, she just dipped her hand in a bit and dry heaved. But she maintained her composure long enough to cross the room and halfheartedly wipe it on Glenn. He was gagging too. Especially when someone had the bright idea of removing the guts and draping them over the cop and Glenn.

"This is bad, this is so bad," Glenn complained.

"Think about something else," the cop suggested. "Puppies and kittens."

And of course T-Dog had to ruin it. "Dead puppies and kittens," he muttered.

Glenn puked, nearly missing Meg. She shot T-Dog a dirty look. She hadn't totally forgotten that he had provoked Merle – and thrown the first punch.

"That is just evil," Andrea said to T-Dog. "What is wrong with you?"

"Next time let the cracker beat his ass," Jacqui suggested to the cop.

T-Dog apologized.

"Do we smell like them?" the cop asked after a bit.

Everyone agreed that they did.

Andrea called Glenn over and gave him her gun. "Just in case," she said.

"You might want to be careful," Meg suggested, hands on hips. "That boy lost my axe."

With a smile to Meg, she shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

"If we make it back, be ready," the cop said.

Then T-Dog asked the question on everyone's mind. "What about Merle Dixon?"

The cop gave T-Dog a long stare, before he reached into his own pocket and pulled out the key. Tossing it to T-Dog, the black man stared at it for a while and then let his hand curl around it. "Hand me the axe," the cop ordered. "We need more guts."

Everyone cringed as the blade bit into bone.

T-Dog gave some excuse about going up to the roof to check on the walkie-talkie. Meg nearly followed him up, but then she remembered that Merle was up there and if there was one thing she didn't want to do – it was deal with Merle Dixon right now.

When Glenn and the cop were sufficiently decked out in walker guts, the group ditched their lab coats and gloves. They sent the two out the door and then ran up the stairs to the roof. Meg was winded and leaned against the door as everyone else ran to the edge to look over. T-Dog was trying the C.B. and Merle immediately whipped around to ask, "Hey, what's happening man?"

They ignored him in favor of searching for the brave souls down below.

"There!" Morales finally pointed.

"That asshole is out on the street with the handcuff keys?" Merle asked. Only Meg caught the fear creeping into his voice.

Then she watched as T-Dog pulled the key from his pocket with a triumphant gleam to his eyes. With a half-smirk, he wiggled it back and forth in front of Merle. Meg couldn't see his face from this angle, but she would have bet anything that he was just plain furious. Yeah, she would be too. What an asshole.

Thunder rolled.

Suddenly, the C.B. burst with life. "Hello, hello?" came a voice. "Reception is bad on this end, repeat, repeat."

"Shane, is that you?" T-Dog asked. "We're in some deep shit. We're trapped in the department store. There are geeks all over the place. Hundreds of them. We're surrounded."

They stopped responding. T-Dog cursed and nearly threw the C.B. to the ground. Meg wrapped her arms around herself and looked to the sky. It had suddenly become very dark. And then, because in a zombie apocalypse you don't get many breaks, the sky opened up and the rain fell. Andrea cursed and Morales kept watching Glenn and the mystery man down below.

But Meg knew it was hopeless. Her arms tightened around herself and she lifted her head to the sky, letting the rain wash down on her. That was what this world had become, a series of shitty events – one right after the other. And the second you think that you could maybe escape, life has to throw one more shitty event right in your face. And eventually, one of those shitty events kills you.

"There is no surviving this world, is there?" she mumbled to herself. Well, at least she'd be with her family soon. She had always assumed that they hadn't made it out of the suburbs. All she hoped was that Daryl would take care of Amanda. Someone had to.

"They made it over the fence!" Morales shouted, fist pumping the air.

"They're leaving us," Andrea said, dumbfounded.

That got Meg's attention. Jogging over to the edge she said, "What?"

"No, no," Andrea muttered, grabbing the edge. "Come back."

And there they were, driving off to safety.

"Are you kidding me?" Meg shouted. "What the fuck?"

"They'll come back," Morales assured them. "They'll come back. They just need to regroup."

"Yeah, and in the meantime those walkers downstairs are probably getting in!" Meg argued.

"Meg," Morales grabbed her by her shoulders. "This is not time to get hysterical."

"When I am hysterical," she hissed. "You will know." Then she stalked back over to the door, leaning against it again. There was something about that spot – something about leaning there that made something right with the world.

Suddenly the C.B. burst forth with noise. "The roll up doors. Meet us there. Be ready."

Immediately, bags were grabbed and Morales ordered, "Come on, let's go!" Meg sprinted across the roof and grabbed a bag for herself, throwing it over her shoulder and following closely behind Morales.

"Hey!" Merle shouted. "Ya can't leave me here! I'm not foolin', man! Morales! Meg!"

She stopped at the sound of her name and glanced back. That's right, Merle was still chained to the roof. Shit. Why hadn't T-Dog released him?

"Hey, that's my gun! Don't leave me!" Merle kept shouting. "Don't leave me here!"

Andrea's frantic voice broke up the stairs, "Morales! Come on!"

"I'm coming," he called back. "We gotta go!" he said to Meg and T-Dog.

"Morales, ya can't leave me like this, man!" Then Merle noticed that T-Dog and Meg were still there. "Hey T-Dog. No, man. Ya can't leave me, man." He turned his frightened eyes to Meg. "Daisy Duke, girlie, ya can't leave me here – not like this. You can't man, it's not human."

With a groan, T-Dog turned back and on shaky legs headed over to Merle. "Go," he told Meg. "I got this."

Nodding, Meg took off down the stairs. T-Dog and Merle had their issues, but she knew that that last comment about how inhumane it would be to leave him was enough to get T-Dog to do the right thing. And this way, she could clear out any zombies that got in their way… with the weapon she didn't have, she realized. Damn Glenn for losing her axe.

She quickly caught up with the rest of the group and stood in silence, waiting for the car to pull up and the doors to open. Faintly, the sound of a car alarm sounded. Meg strained her ears to listen.

T-Dog came running in frantically, shouting, "They're here, they're here. Let's go!"

Morales and Andrea yanked the chain down again and again, opening the door. And there it was – the back of their chariot, which would whisk them away to safety. Bags were tossed up into the back of the van and once Meg threw hers she paused to look back. There was T-Dog, but where was Merle?

"Where's Merle?" she asked, straining her voice to be heard over the chaos.

No one answered, instead hopping into the van. Meg glanced back one more time and caught sight of walkers – a whole group of them quickly shuffling towards them. Screaming her head off, she threw her body into the back of the truck just before the cop hit the gas and sped away from the doors. Meg had been able to see the white's of the closest zombie's eyes, it had been that close. Morales closed the door and suddenly, they were totally cut off from the walkers outside.

With a haggard and breathless sigh, Meg let her body sag to the ground.

"Oh Lord," she whispered.

Once they were a safe distance away, Morales came to sit in the passengers seat. Meg watched his path and noticed the cop look back and survey the group. He noticed what Meg had discovered a while ago – Merle was not with them.

"I dropped the damn key," T-Dog finally admitted. No one spoke for a few seconds.

All anyone had to say was, "Where's Glenn?"

Meg lowered her head and willed the tears not to fall.

They had been driving for five minutes before Morales turned to the cop. "Best not to dwell on it," he suggested. "Nobody's gonna be sad he didn't come back."

From the very back of the van, Meg gave a strangled gasp. She tried to keep it quiet, but the cop heard her and turned around. At his curious look, she spit out, "I know at least three people who are going to be sad he didn't come back. I'm one of them, you bastard. Fuck!" she ran her fingers through her hair and a few tears slipped out as her hand got stuck in the knots. "You people never liked him. Never gave him a chance. Him or his brother. Christ! They caught all your fresh food, the two of them. Provided manpower. He was important and all you people ever heard was what came out of his mouth!"

"His actions today proved something about his character," the cop insisted.

"Let's remember who threw the first punch," she sneered at the back of his head and then shifted her gaze to T-Dog.

"He hit you, too!" T-Dog insisted.

"He was high!" she claimed.

Andrea sighed, "You sound like a battered wife – trying to make excuses for your husband."

"Tell that to Carol," Meg snapped. And that shut everyone up. Still pissed as all hell, she turned her attention back to the cop, still not satisfied. "Are you some kind of idiot?" she asked. "Yeah, bright idea giving the black guy the key to handcuffs holding a racist to the roof." Wiping her eyes she finally concluded, "I wouldn't be surprised if you threw the key off the roof, instead."

T-Dog didn't make eye contact, choosing to look down at the floor of the van.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Meg pushed. "You wanted him gone. You saw your chance. The zombies were coming, you had no other choice but to leave."

"I dropped the key," he repeated slowly and quietly. "It went down a drain."

"Bull. Shit," was all Meg would say on the matter.

Oh God, how was she going to tell Daryl?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Hey look! Another chapter! Oh Lordy, it's happening. It. Is. Happening. I feel like that one fish from Finding Nemo, "Just keep writing, just keep writing." I'm relatively certain y'all aren't complaining. Probably.**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

When they finally pulled up to the camp, everyone was quick to hop out. Meg stayed behind and let each one pass her on their way out – curious to see whether they would be able to face her and her sadness. No one was willing to look her tear-stained face in the eyes. She glanced up to find that the cop still hadn't left either. He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm honestly sorry we left him," the cop admitted.

"Maybe you are," Meg shrugged. "You seem like the kind of person whose heart bleeds for everyone. At the end of the day, though, your care for everyone will cheapen how sincere your care is for anyone." Meg decided she didn't want to be in the van anymore, not with this guy. "Just do me a favor: when Daryl flips a shit over you leaving his brother, don't kill or permanently maim him. He's one of the better men around here." She hopped out and rounded the corner.

And there was Amanda, standing there with her arms wrapped tightly around her petite body. Tears had formed in her eyes and she nearly tripped over herself to hug Meg.

"We got your radio message," she explained, holding on tightly. "We thought you were lost! Shane wouldn't let us come after you!"

"We're safe, we're fine," Meg reassured her. Despite the embrace, Meg glanced around over Amanda's shoulder, looking for the hunter.

Amanda pulled away and took a good look at Meg. "Oh my God," she gasped. "What happened to your face?" She reached out to try to gingerly poke at the bruises on her friend's face.

Meg dodged her and asked, "Where's Daryl?"

"He went on a hunt," Amanda explained, frowning that she had ignored the question. "Left an hour or two after you." This little bit of fact made Meg's bones melt in relief – he wasn't here, she didn't have to face him just yet. "Why?" Amanda asked. "What happened? Why do you need Daryl?" Something in Meg's face set her off. She looked behind Meg, and then did a full spin around to get a complete view of the camp. "Meg…" she began. "Tell me Meryl is taking his nice, sweet time getting out of the van."

She couldn't. That was enough to get Meg to totally break down. The tears came again and all she could do was shake her head. Amanda hugged her again and tried to get her to calm down. But all Meg could think about was the fact that Merle was locked on the roof, chained and waiting. Those walkers probably ate him by now. They were persistent creatures, they'd look all over that building for the food they knew was in there. And they would find him, laying in wait, totally defenseless. A feast on a silver platter.

Her sobs began to choke her.

Leading her back to their tent, Amanda tried to get her to breathe. It wasn't working. Instead, in true Mandy fashion, she crushed up a Valium and slipped it into a water bottle before making Meg drink it all up.

Then, she just felt numb.

* * *

Meg didn't speak to anyone the rest of the day. Amanda had to get the story from someone else. That someone else happened to be T-Dog. And damn, she verbally assaulted him too. That night, Meg told Amanda she didn't want to be with the group. Sure, the Dixons weren't there, but their tents were still set up. So, the girls made a campfire over there.

"Oh," Meg finally remembered, putting her can of beans down and pulling a plastic bag from her backpack. "Found these. Merle said they were downers."

"Did you tell him about my condition?" Amanda asked, opening the bag and observing the goods.

"No, wouldn't matter if I did at this point, anyways," Meg shrugged.

They sat in silence for a bit.

"You missed the happy reunion," Amanda spoke up.

"Reunion?"

"Yeah, that cop guy you guys came back with – his name is Rick Grimes," Mandy explained. "He's Lori's husband and Carl's father."

Meg shrugged and ate a spoonful of beans, wincing at the pain in her jaw. She still hadn't told Amanda how she had gotten the marks. "Good for them. He did say he'd been looking for his family." Then she let the subject drop. Mostly, she didn't want to talk about Rick Grimes or anyone.

Amanda let her eat in silence and then collected the garbage. While she threw it out, Meg looked up to the sky and tried to find Orion. She couldn't. Her eyes exploded with tears and blurred everything. But she wanted so desperately to find that constellation, she just kept looking.

"Where are you, hunter?" she asked.

She tried not to be surprised when no one answered.

* * *

The next morning, Meg forced herself to get out of bed. The sun was shining and there was nothing more annoying than that little patch of light that beams in through a crack in your tent, focused right on your eyeballs. Nothing more annoying than that.

She mostly kept to herself and helped Carol with the washing. They were standing together, hanging the laundry when Rick Grimes finally immerged from his tent. As he made his way over to Carol, Meg made a point to walk away and make herself look busy elsewhere. Rick glanced at her as he passed, and then looked to the ground. Good, let him feel guilty, Meg thought.

Shane drove up in his jeep and announced that he had brought water. Good, all that crying Meg had done yesterday had left her dehydrated.

Meg was approaching the jeep for her share of water when screams rang out.

Lori's mind immediately jumped to her boy, "Carl!"

Everyone took off running towards the noise. Signaling Amanda to stay put, she ran down the hill and into their tent and grabbed her new axe – Glenn had been kind enough to grab the one that Rick had used before they got into the van, just to replace the one he had lost. Then she took off after the group. The men got there first. Lori stopped to grab Carl and Sophia and eventually Carol was able to get to her daughter as well. Meg didn't have time to wonder where Ed was. Coming beside Andrea and Amy, she noted neither was armed, so she positioned herself in front of both of them.

It was a walker – a lone walker eating a deer.

When it noticed it had an audience, it stood up and approached the men. Wrong move. The men beat him down, almost reminiscent of a gang beat down – not that Meg had ever seen that kind of violence in person. And then it was Dale that threw the killing shot, decapitating the creature. They all backed away from the body.

"It's the first one we've had up here," Dale explained. "They never come this far up the mountain."

"Well," Jim spoke up. "They're running out of food in the city, that's what."

That realization hit them all pretty hard and no one spoke for a moment.

Then, a branch snapped and everyone was on high alert. Even Meg gripped her axe tighter and took a step forward.

And there came Daryl, tripping out of the bushes – right into the line of fire. He watched them with a confused expression before they lowered their weapons. Then he noticed the deer.

"Son of a bitch," he said.

That was all Meg heard. She wasn't ready for this. She didn't want him to know what had happened to his brother. Why couldn't he stay a bit longer in the woods? Totally oblivious to what had happened and what had become of Merle? She sidestepped the sisters and took off at a brisk walk back to camp, her axe dragging her down – but no worse than the burden on her shoulders.

She was barely back to camp when a familiar voice rang out.

"Merle!" Daryl called. Meg turned back to watch him swagger into camp. "Merle! Get yer ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrels! Let's stew 'em up!"

Meg pinched her arm to keep her mind focused.

"Daryl," Shane called out. "Just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."

The hunter glanced around carelessly. "About what?" he questioned.

"About Merle," Shane admitted, wiping his mouth a bit. "There was a – there was a problem in Atlanta."

_That's one way to put it,_ Meg thought distastefully.

Daryl finally gave the entire camp a long look and noticed that first, everyone had gathered and second, that Merle was not included in that gathering. When his eyes shifted over to her, Meg looked away. She could feel the tears coming again.

"He dead?" he finally asked.

"We're not sure," Shane answered.

That right there got Meg's attention. Merle had been left on the roof of a building that had been flooded with walkers. Of course he was dead. What kind of bullshit were they trying to pull?

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl spit out.

"There is no easy way to say this," Rick paced forward and Daryl turned to glare at him. "So I'll just say it."

"Who are ya?" Daryl immediately asked, suspicious in only the way a person having previously dealt with law enforcement could be.

"Rick Grimes," he answered immediately.

Swaggering forward, Daryl mocked, "Rick Grimes. Ya got something ya want ta tell me?"

And the cop was totally unfazed by the threatening redneck. He simply responded, "Your brother was a danger to us all. So, I handcuffed him to a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal." Meg flinched at the description. They really had done that, hadn't they? "He's still there," Rick finished. Again! Again with the assumption that Merle could still be alive. What the fuck was going on?

T-Dog appeared over the horizon. God, let Rick not kill Daryl. Because Meg knew the second Daryl found out it was T-Dog's fault, the redneck would strangle him. Daryl wasn't nearly has bad as Merle when it came to racist comments, but he certainly had his unwarranted prejudices. The camp knew that.

"Hold on," Daryl swiped at his eyes. "Let me process this." He paced back and forth. "Yer sayin' ya handcuffed my brother ta a roof and ya left him there?" He shouted the last part.

"Yeah," Rick answered. It was all he could really do, wasn't it?

Daryl paused for a moment, let that answer and it's simplicity wash over him and then his anger finally hit the breaking point. He tossed the squirrels straight at Rick. While the cop was distracted, the hunter made a move to go after him, only to be tackled by Shane. Meg took a step forward, only for Amanda to grab her arm. When had Amanda shown up? Meg hadn't even been paying attention. But as T-Dog announced, "Watch the knife!" Meg ripped her arm from Amanda's grasp and took two steps forward.

Meg watched with baited breath as Daryl got to his feet and took a swipe at Rick. The cop dodged, luckily. Maybe if Daryl couldn't get a hand on him, he would uphold his promise to not kill the hunter.

Instead, he got Daryl in a grip and together with Shane they forced the knife from his hands. As they tumbled to the ground, Shane got him in a headlock.

"Ya'd best let me go!" Daryl shouted, wriggling around and kicking up dust.

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't," Shane said.

"Chokeholding's illegal," he protested.

His face was turning red. Meg couldn't remember whether that hold would suffocate a person if it was maintained long enough. She moved forward without thinking until she was right behind Rick.

"You can file a complaint," Shane responded. "Come on man, we can keep this up all day."

Daryl began to make noises. Meg couldn't tell if it was just noisy breathing or if the tough man was honestly whimpering against the pressure around his throat – or if he was choking. Either way, Meg had had enough.

"Let him go," she demanded. Rick glanced at her over his shoulder, but otherwise ignored her.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic," he explained. "Do you think we could manage that?" When Daryl didn't respond, Rick repeated himself.

Eventually Daryl muttered a reluctant, "Yeah" and Shane let him go. Well, not let him go so much as he threw him to the ground.

"Hey!" Meg protested.

"What I did was not a whim," Rick explained, kneeling beside Daryl's panting body. Meg came to situate herself on his other side, trying to keep herself between her friend and Shane.

But her close proximity had an adverse effect: Daryl glanced over at her and was finally able to get a good look at her face. From her reflection earlier this morning, she knew the bruises had darkened considerably and the swelling hadn't gone down yet. Simply put, she looked a mess and he saw that immediately.

"What tha hell happened ta yer face?" Daryl asked, squinting up at her.

"Give you one guess what happened to her face, Daryl," Shane piped up. "Or better yet, who."

"Shane," Meg snapped. When she turned back to Daryl he was watching her with a careful expression.

"Your brother does not work or play well with others," Rick drew his attention back to him.

"It's not Rick's fault," T-Dog announce across camp. "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" the hunter asked. His anger had faded briefly, or at least been muddled. Now, it seemed, he just wanted to know what had happened.

"Well," he clarified. "I dropped it in a drain."

Daryl gave a short, loud exhale and tensed up his body. Then he composed himself and stood. Throwing some dirt to the ground he declared, "If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't." He walked right on past her.

"Maybe this will," T-Dog offered. "Look, I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

Oh my God. Why hadn't anyone told her? Why hadn't she asked? No wonder they were so hopeful! Merle was on the roof, but they could still go back and get him. Suddenly, her spirits lifted and she allowed herself a small smile. All the tears she had cried thinking he was dead had been wasted sadness. It felt good to let something like that go.

Rick encouraged, "It's gotta count for something."

It did, in Meg's eyes. Maybe she had misjudged T-Dog. Maybe a lot.

Daryl scrunched up his face and swiped at his eyes again. Meg couldn't help but think there was more than dust in his eyes at this point. "Hell with all y'all," he finally announced. "Just tell me where he is so's I can go get 'im."

"He'll show you," Lori spoke up from beneath the shade of the RV canopy. "Isn't that right?" She spoke so neutrally, Meg almost thought she didn't care that her husband was going back to the city after just being reunited with her.

"I'm going back," Rick nodded. Lori went into the RV without another word.

Also in silence, Daryl stalked past to grab his crossbow and squirrels. And then he disappeared over near his part of camp.

Their discussion was over.

Meg only hesitated for a brief moment before following after him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I've been getting some reviews asking about why I took down the original and reposted it. The answer is… well. Normally I write chapters that are well over 5,000 words and these chapters were reaching about 6,500 originally. Meaning, the story only a small amount of chapters, but they were long chapters. I decided to delete the original and then cut the chapters in half so that by the end, the story would have just as many words as it originally had, but it would also have double the chapters and therefore I'd be able to update more often.**

**So… that's why…**

**I don't know, I've just always had it in my head that stories with long chapters were better than stories with a lot of chapters… I think I asked a friend once what she preferred because I was trying to format some of my older works.**

**Never too late to change your mind, right?**

**I figured you'd rather I update once every two/three days rather than once a week.**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

Daryl threw his squirrels down onto the ground, but was gentler with his crossbow. A twig snapped behind him and he twisted to glared at Meg. Then he turned back to his goal – grabbing the string of squirrels and then cutting one of them from the string.

"Go tha fuck away," he muttered.

"I want to talk," Meg explained.

"Well, I don't got nothin' ta say," he snarled, situating himself on the log in front of ashes of their campfire.

"Daryl," she began, stepping fully into his space.

"No," he snarled. With a harsh groan, he whipped his hand threw his hair, pulling at it a bit. "I can't believe he hit ya," he finally muttered.

"He was high," she tried to explain. She let a hand reach out, physically manifesting her need to make him understand.

"That don't matter!" Daryl shouted, stepping over the log and getting right up in her face. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't matter if yer intoxicated. Ya stupid bitch – what? Is that tha excuse ya uppity college bitches use? "Nah, I was so drunk when we fucked, so it don't actually count!" Buncha bullshit if I ever heard it! People know what that shit does ta them. They do it anyways and it ain't a fuckin' good excuse," he shook his head.

Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes and Meg could feel her sunburned face growing even redder, like it always did when she was upset.

Meg didn't know why she was trying so hard to convince Daryl that Merle wasn't all that bad. She remembered being so hurt by his actions after she woke up with her face all bruised. And she was still not ready to forgive him, nor did she think his actions were excusable. But for some reason, she wanted Daryl to still think highly of his brother. Maybe she was projecting her own "big sister" insecurities. She didn't know. Either way though, the look on his face was breaking her heart.

When Daryl glanced down at her mouth and flinched, she realized her lips must be quivering.

"Fuck!" his eyes went wide as he noticed how close he had gotten to her. Twisting around, he put some distance between them and allowed the silence to overtake them for a few moments as he thought. With a deep breath, he explained, "That was tha one fuckin' thing he taught me right: don't ever put yer hands on a woman. Man, he was such a fuckup, but at least he didn't do shit like that!" He stared off into the distance for a bit before he snapped out, "Fuck!"

"I…" Meg shrugged. "I don't think he knew it was me. He and T-Dog got into it, punches were thrown. Rick tried to break it up and Merle just kept throwing punches. I got in the middle, too. He just kept going. He had had at least three lines, two of which I watched him take and didn't say anything about."

Daryl squinted at her for a second longer before he grunted and stalked over to his tent. With skilled fingers he unzipped the door and disappeared.

"Damn it," Meg whispered to herself, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective method. With slow footsteps she made her way back to camp – she still had laundry to do.

"Hey! Where're ya going?"

Confused, Meg twisted around. Daryl had emerged from his tent and was waving her back. As she got closer he tossed something at her – a little orange bottle she nearly dropped due to her sudden lack of depth perception. "What is this?" she asked.

"Painkillers," he pointed to her eyebrow and then her jaw. "Thought ya might need 'em."

Meg dragged a hand down the side of her face, feeling the swollen and warm tissue beneath the tips of her fingers. The pain hadn't faded since the day before and she could really use the meds…

"Are these Merle's?" she asked.

The hunter shrugged. "I figure he owes ya one."

Nodding, Meg wrapped her hand around the bottle and managed a small smile.

She was about to leave, when she decided instead to quell her own curiosity. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"What?" his eyes went wide and vulnerable. Then his expression snapped closed, "About tha fact that those motherfuckers left my brother for dead up on a roof?" he snapped. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' okay with it."

Pulling the bottle closer to her body and nodding absently, Meg turned and shuffled away, pretending like she wasn't hurt.

* * *

"I'm going to go join the camp," Amanda informed Meg. The brunette shrugged and went back to her little book.

The men had left only thirty minutes after Daryl and Meg had had their… discussion. And for the most part, the camp had grown quiet. Everyone was so focused on their own problems.

Apparently Ed had smacked Carol in front of all the women – minus Meg, who had been off in the woods, looking for berries. Amanda had been quick to tell her all about it – Ed had challenged the group of women and Andrea had challenged him back. When he demanded that Carol come with him and she had hesitated, Ed had backhanded her. Shane was on the man in a second, pounding his face into the dirt. Meg had whistled when she walked past the tent Ed was later resting in. He has cursed at her, but all Meg could think about was how funny and ironic life could be sometimes.

Then there was Lori and Carl, who were worried about their newfound family member. All in all, tensions were high and Meg didn't feel like dealing with it. She was still dealing with the conversation she had had with the hunter that morning.

No one was up for much talking, but apparently Mandy was getting pretty sick of just sitting around watching Meg write in her little journal.

Amanda stood and pushed open the already unzipped tent flap. Then she paused. "Oh my God," she whispered. There was something in her voice that made Meg put her book down.

The blonde stumbled back into the tent, landing on her butt. Her face was morphed into terror and she clutched her chest.

Immediately, Meg pushed past her and grabbed her axe. Silently, she shuffled to the door and peeked out. A lone walker was slithering past the tent. Meg almost just closed the tent door and huddled in the corner with Amanda, but then screams erupted from the central part of camp. Cursing, Meg glanced outside again. The walker hadn't caught sight of her yet, facing the other way.

Meg quietly opened the tent door and slid out. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she made as little noise as possible – it was something she had learned from watching Daryl. It wasn't until she was two steps away from it that it seemed to sense her presence – if walkers were at all capable of sensing anything. Turning, in hopes of having a hardy snack, it was surprised to find an axe smacked snuggly between its eyes. Or at least, that's how Meg viewed it. Yanking the axe free, she winced but didn't even feel close to throwing up as she quickly jogged past the tent. Lifting her free hand, she signaled Amanda to stay put for now.

Silently, she strained her hears to listen – the screaming was still going on. So, she hefted her axe up and stalked forward a bit. They had set up shop a ways away – not as far as the Dixons, but they were certainly their closest neighbors. From this distance, Meg had no clue what was happening up, over the hill in the central part of camp or if she should go check. Caught in her thoughts, and on account of her bum eye, she didn't notice the walker right away – a half-decayed woman who stumbled forward and reached for her with two stumps, in favor of hands. Meg didn't even wince this time as she planted the axe in her head. Then, the gunshots happened.

Either the men had managed to grab what guns they had kept with them, or Rick and his gang were back. Which meant Daryl was back.

Glancing back at her tent, Meg balanced the two options: leave Amanda here, relatively safe but with no protection and go into the main fray or stay here and let the men deal with the other walkers.

She ended up with no other choice – the screaming and the gunshots ended.

And that meant that either the walkers were all dead or the people were all dead. Either way, Meg needed to check. Making as little noise as possible, she was nearly there when crying rang out. Sobs echoed into the night and Meg realized it must have been the walkers who were killed. Then, she made all the noise she wanted, as she rounded on the camp.

Stumbling into the campsite, she was met with the barrel of a gun in her face.

"Shit!" she froze.

Apparently, whoever was on the other end of the gun was smart enough to remember that walkers couldn't talk. The gun was lowered and she was confronted with the scowling face of – Daryl. It was Daryl. Thank God, it was Daryl.

"Ya shoulda stayed in yer tent," he growled.

Lifting her bloodstained axe, she said, "There were walkers over there, too. I took care of both of them. Thought you guys might like a hand up here."

"Whatever," he huffed and shoved past her – his gun still raised and poised for any stray walkers.

She was too distracted by the scene before her to care that he had been so short with her.

There was Rick, hugging his small boy and his wife. Other people were milling about, making sure the walkers on the ground weren't going to get up again. She recognized a few of them – there was Glenn, struggling to carry his pickaxe. And there was T-Dog, gun raised. People were leaning over dead bodies – some had already been walkers, others had been alive not two minutes ago and had been silenced forever. And then, Meg discovered the source of the crying. And it nearly broke her heart. Goddamnit. That's what this world does now more than ever – takes your loved ones with no mercy.

Andrea kneeled over Amy, tearing dripping from the older woman's face to land on her younger sister. God, she was so pale. Meg let her axe sag and tripped over her feet to get to her friend.

"Oh no," she whispered, coming to kneel next to her.

It seemed the walkers had managed to get their teeth into her, biting her on the arm and then they sunk their fangs into her throat. They had nearly literally ripped her throat out. Meg knew the consequences of those bites – Amy would reawaken. And probably soon.

"We're going to have to shoot her," Meg muttered in shock as that thought sprang to her mind.

"No!" Andrea, tear stained and hysterical, pulled Amy closer to her body and glared at Meg. "No one is touching her!" Then the woman reached out and pushed Meg off her feet and away from Amy. Her hand squished into something wet and has Meg brought it closer to her face, she realized it was blood – probably Amy's blood.

God, it was too much.

Meg stumbled to her feet and what little she had had to eat that day made an appearance. Sobs choked at her throat and she used the bark of a nearby tree to wipe the blood off. When the bark scraped away the blood and started biting into her skin instead, someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.

Through her tears, she was able to make out Daryl and his crossbow, his hand wrapped snuggly around her wrist.

No way in hell was she letting this asshole drag her wherever he wanted to go – she had shown an ounce of concern for the man and he had snapped back with more sarcasm than Meg had ever heard from him before. Fuck that, she decided as she yanked her wrist back to her.

"No," she said. Vaguely, somewhere in the sane part of her mind, she knew she was acting like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. The insane part didn't care. "Let go of me," she demanded as she finally freed herself.

"Get over here," Daryl insisted, reaching for her arm again. She tried to dodge and ended up falling back. The hunter came to tower over her, his crossbow in his hands. The moonlight reflected off his blue eyes and made them glow. For a moment, her breath caught. Then, she remembered that he was being all dominant-like and she really didn't appreciate it.

She ignored his outreached hand and tried to walk back over to her tree. She still felt so dirty with Amy's blood on her hand. She needed to get it off. Now.

This time, the bark bit into her wrist to the point that her blood mixed with Amy's.

"Goddamnit," Daryl's mutter came from behind her. Meg had forgotten he was there. Something hit the ground and then two hands grabbed her on the waist. She was lifted off the ground and let out a scream. The hunter flipped her around and smashed a hand over her mouth. "Wanna call more walkers?" he asked her in a growl. When he pulled his hand away, she was silent. "Come on," he grabbed her wrist again. She continued to resist, digging her feet in. "Fuck," he snarled. "Ya gotta make everythin' difficult, don't ya?" Without another comment, he bent over and wrapped his arms around her knees. He lifted her straight up and then over his shoulder.

"What the fuck?" she shouted, just as Rick and Shane came running, guns in hand.

Daryl picked up his discarded bow and walked right past them, explaining, "I'm takin' her back ta her tent. She's in shock."

"I am not!" she argued.

Regardless, Shane and Rick let him past.

The hunter dropped her off right in front of her tent. Once her feet were on the ground, she shot out a hand to smack him. He blocked it with pitiful ease. But she wasn't ready to give up. Using her other hand, she aimed for the other side of his head. This time he caught her wrist and realized it was sticky.

"What tha hell?" He flipped it over and examined it. "That blood?"

"I need to get it off," she explained, and tried to reclaim her hand again.

He stared at her before nodding. "I'll grab ya some fresh water," he offered. "But stay in yer tent."

"I have an axe," she insisted.

"Yeah?" Daryl let her wrist go. "And where is this axe a' yers?"

Meg glanced down at her hands as though it would be there. Her hands were empty. When had she dropped her axe? Her eyes shot around, looking for it as her chest constricted. She was weaponless.

The man seemed to realize he was sending her into another state – probably worse than the one she was already in – and put his hands on her shoulders, "Get in yer tent and I'll grab yer axe and some water and we'll get ya cleaned up." He squeezed gently. "Ya got it?"

Allowing herself to take a deep breath before nodding.

"Good," he soothed and guided her to the tent flap. "I'll be right back."

The first thing Meg noticed as she entered the tent, was that Amanda was still curled in the corner farthest from the door, a nail file in her hand. Her breathing was labored.

Whatever had overtaken Meg outside, quickly dissipated at the sight of her friend. They were such… opposites. Amanda had always been so much more personable and social and friendly and confident. Meg was shy and reserved. Amanda was always taking small risks – promiscuous sex, experimenting with drugs. Meg was cautious until someone challenged her or pissed her off or she needed to help someone. Amanda was physically so fragile, what with her condition and her weak body. Meg wasn't necessarily strong – but she was capable.

They balanced each other, Meg realized. Sure, Meg spent most of her time taking care of Amanda – making sure scumbags didn't get too friendly when Amanda was really not sober or cleaning her puke. But at the same time, by having to get her act together to take care of Amanda, the blonde took care of the brunette too. There had been many a times when Amanda and Meg had been equally drunk, but at the end of the night, Meg managed to sober up first – mostly because Amanda was probably tripping over herself and was two steps away from being given a drinking ticket by the campus police. Some people complained that Meg was Amanda's shadow, that Amanda took advantage of Meg. Honestly, Meg had never believed any of those claims. Those people usually didn't understand the dynamics of their relationship: they needed each other equally.

And this situation was no exception.

Meg lightly pressed a finger to her jaw and let the pain overwhelm her for a moment. As the pressure faded though, her head was a lot clearer.

"It's all over," she whispered to her friend. Amanda still didn't unwind. "Mandy, it's all over. Everything is done. We're safe."

"We are never safe," Amanda shot back.

"Mandy," Meg crawled over to her friend and gently pried the nail file from her hands. Amanda almost didn't let her. "The men are back and they have lots of guns. They will be keeping watch tonight. We'll be fine."

The girl still didn't look convinced and then gave a yelp as their tent flap opened again. Daryl frowned at the two women and crawled into their space. "Got ya yer axe," he handed the bloody weapon to her.

"Thanks," she took it gratefully.

"Come 'ere," Daryl held a hand out and Meg crawled closer to him. Putting her injured wrist in her hand, she watched as he gently turned her arm to get a better angle. His callused fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of her forearm. He cleaned and bandaged the wound without a word before releasing her arm back to her.

"Thank you," she repeated. "And, I'm sorry for putting up such a fuss out there."

He observed her for a bit and then nodded. He was about to crawl out when Amanda stopped being silent and spoke up, asking, "Where are you going?"

"The men are gonna take watch," he explained. "I'll be in my tent until it's my turn."

"Could you stay?" Amanda wanted to know, kneeling closer to the door and therefore the hunter.

Hesitating, he glanced out the door. "Eh," his voice took up space but did little else.

"Or could you get Merle?" she added. "I just want one of you two to be here." Tears fell from her eyes and she admitted, "I'm scared."

Squinting at them tightly, Daryl finally nodded. "I'll be right back."

Meg crawled over to Amanda and used some spare bandages to wipe her cheeks. Amanda threw her arms around the brunette's shoulders and sagged against her. Stroking her back, Meg eventually coaxed her into lying down – just as someone approached the tent. Amanda tensed and Meg reached for her axe.

But it was just Daryl, again.

Apparently Merle decided he shouldn't have to babysit two crying girls. Whatever. She wasn't entirely certain she was interested in seeing his high ass, either.

The hunter hesitated, noticing the small space they had. It was true, Mandy and Meg had grabbed a pretty small tent, figuring it would be perfect for two people. And it was. It just wasn't perfect for three people.

"I'll stick close to the door," he told them as he settled into a reclined position.

"Alright," Meg pulled totally away from Amanda and lay down between the two. "Thank you," she repeated. Her eyes drooped, the adrenaline leaving her body totally now.

"Not a problem," he muttered, pulling his crossbow closer to himself.

Meg rolled onto her right side, her most comfortable sleeping position and watched as the moonlight streamed into their tent and reflected off the hunter's dirty face. He blinked at her, also just observing her face in the darkness. Soon, it was too much effort to keep her eyes opened and they slid down. A single sigh exited her mouth before she drifted off into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Rewatched Boondock Saints for the third time last night. It was lovely. Got bored today. Checked the Boondock Saints fanfiction archive. It was pathetic. Why is there no decent BDS fanfiction? I just don't get it. It makes me sad. At least the Walking Dead has a decently flourishing community. I'm happy about that, definitely.**

**Someone caught the plot bunny I situated in the last chapter: No, the girls don't know that Merle wasn't found. They were all waiting for the group to bring him back and then suddenly they were attacked by zombies and then suddenly the group was back and therefore, they assumed Merle must have come back with the group.**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

After that first initial dozing off, Meg eventually found it difficult to sleep. Mostly, once she first drifted back into consciousness, every little whistle of the wind was enough to make her flinch. Then, Amanda began to snore. Damn, that girl had a nose on her. Meg didn't remember her making this much noise when she crashed in her dorm room, drunk off her ass. Shifting a bit to the right, Meg rolled over and came face-to-sleeping-face with one Mr. Daryl Dixon.

His dirty face was totally calm. It was probably the one time she would ever see him this peaceful, she realized. His jaw was a little slack and his warm breath managed to reach her from across the ways.

Without much thought, she scooted closer to him. When she was less than a foot from his face, she stopped. Suddenly, all the tension and fear melted away. With one last sigh, she closed her eyes again and drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

When she woke again, it was because of Amanda stepping on her hand. "Jesus Christ!" Meg mumbled, yanking her hand in close to her chest.

"Sorry!" Amanda winced, but she didn't look back as she left the tent. "Gotta pee!"

Daryl was nowhere in sight.

Meg took the time to braid her dirty hair back and then grabbed the pill bottle Daryl had given her the day before. She probably only needed one more pill at this point. Now her face just throbbed. And Amanda's careless footfalls made her hand vibrate with injury. Yup, just one more pill and she'd probably be okay.

Popping the pill and swallowing with a big gulp of water, voices reached her. It seemed everyone else was up. Time to face the day and all the death outside the security of her tent.

No one was speaking any more than they needed to. Andrea was still situated next to Amy and Meg couldn't help but feel a little glad that the girl hadn't reanimated yet. Lord, Meg didn't know what she'd do when she did come back, though.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out across the camp. "Y'all left my brother for dead! Ya had this comin'!" before he stomped past her, glaring like a devil confined to hell. Almost immediately, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. With a snarl, he ripped his arm from her and kept walking.

Meg followed.

"Daryl," she began. "Why are you still upset about that? You guys went back and got him."

His face squinted up instantly, "He wasn't there."

"What do you mean, "he wasn't there"? He was chained to that roof."

Sucking on his gums a bit, the hunter finally admitted, "He cut his hand off."

"What?" Meg couldn't keep the hysteria out of her voice. Then something shifted on Daryl's face. It seemed he realized that Meg truly had no clue that they had come back empty handed the night before.

"That's how he got out of the handcuffs – cut his own fuckin' hand off," Daryl readjusted his grip on the pickaxe he was carrying. "Then he got down inta tha building and cauterized tha wound. That's when we lost track a' 'im."

"You didn't find him?"

"Nah, know he's still 'live though – stole our van. That's why we was so late."

Meg noticed that he had calmed down considerably since the conversation began - his shoulders weren't quite as hunched.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

At first his face pinched together and then he gave a great shrug and walked off.

Suddenly something occurred to her, but she kept it to herself. If Merle had found the van and been able to drive, why hadn't he driven back to camp? Sure, he probably thought he had no friends here, but at least he would want to grab Daryl. Why had he left his little brother? And had Daryl figured that out yet?

"A walker got him!" someone shouted. "A walker bit Jim!"

And suddenly, the camp flooded with tension. The men were on their feet in a second, all rushing to circle the infected man. Meg tried to get closer to the supposedly bit man, but a rough hand grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and yanked her back.

"Show it to us," Daryl demanded as he suddenly appeared from nowhere to step in front of Meg, pickaxe against his shoulder. He jogged forward, and threw an arm forward a bit to point.

Of course, the man – Jim, Meg realized once she got a better look at him – did the stupidest thing he could and picked up a shovel, perhaps hoping to ward off the other camp members. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amanda coming back but she was smart enough to stay near the edge of camp. T-Dog appeared behind Jim and ambushed him, grabbing his arms. Daryl rushed forward, dropping his pickaxe, and lifted Jim's shirt to show the angry bite mark. It was so perfectly shaped – almost like some make up artist had just placed it there as a joke. Meg knew this wasn't a joke.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he just kept repeating. It was pathetic. And made something twist painfully in Meg's chest. He might be okay now, but he was doomed for a deadly fever and then a nightmare reanimation.

The second the bite mark was exposed and confirmed, both T-Dog and Daryl backed off like the man had the plague. And maybe, in some way, he did.

Glancing back at Meg, Daryl gingerly picked up his pickaxe and backed away like one would avoid a rabid animal. His steps took him backwards till he was in between Jim and Meg.

After glancing around the campsite, at the way everyone was watching Jim as though he was going to take a chunk out of anyone who passed by, Rick gave a soft whistle and gestured for people to circle up. Daryl hesitated and instead gripped his pickaxe tighter. Dear Lord. He hadn't even developed a fever yet. Meg couldn't believe how everyone was acting. But then again, maybe walker bites didn't have to take your heartbeat before they took your humanity in the eyes of your friends and family.

With a huff, she pushed past Daryl, purposefully brushing past him just so that he knew where she was headed and the fact that she wasn't scared, nor did she need his misplaced protection.

Slowly, she approached the man. His face was so distraught. He knew he was dying. She placed a hand on his arm and guided him over to behind the RV. She vaguely realized she was treating him like a rabid animal as well – she was just being nicer about it. Mentally, she promised to knock it off and treat him how any sick person deserved to be treated.

"Come here, we'll sit down and let them decide what to do," she said.

"I'm okay," he repeated, putting his head in his hands.

Some form of maternal instinct developed in her apocalyptic heart and she ran a hand up and down his sweaty back, but didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. Instead, she listened to the conversation across the way. They weren't being very secretive about what they were saying.

"I say we put a pickaxe in his head," Daryl was the first to suggest. "And the dead girl's, and be done with it."

"Is that what you'd want if it was you?" Shane asked.

"Yeah, and I'd thank ya while ya did it," he sneered back. There was probably a great amount of truth to his words. Meg would probably thank whoever put her out of her misery too.

Jim let out a deep breath and rubbed the top of his head through his hat. Meg turned her attention back to him for a minute, giving him a big smile. Men always liked it when she smiled. Instead, he let out another breath and stared at the ground. Meg didn't know why, but for some reason her brain seemed to be trained on Daryl's voice because she refocused as he claimed:

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be."

Meg nearly stood up right then and there to announce that he wasn't a danger yet – zombies to be aren't dangerous until after their pulse stops.

Then Rick started talking about the CDC. Meg had heard the rumors too. Then the debate came up about whether it was a better bet to go to the CDC or Fort Benning. Rick's wife made reference to the distance, but it meant nothing to Meg. She was so unfamiliar with this area. God, she used to get lost up in her hometown. Speaking of home, her eyes sought Amanda again. From this distance, Meg could just see her moving around near their tent. Good, Meg knew that Amanda had certain negative thoughts about bitten people and if she was allowed to join the conversation, Meg would just get mad. It was one of the main issues they disagreed on.

As she was watching Amanda, a movement caught her eye. Daryl slowly turned to look at Jim and Meg over his shoulder. His gaze caught hers first, because she turned her focus towards him. He scowled at her and she scowled back. Then he looked to Jim and readjusted his weapon. His jaw set.

"Ya go lookin' for aspirin," he told the group. "Do what you need to do." He turned completely around and approached them at a stalk. "Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!" He lifted his pickaxe. Meg didn't even have time to move, except to throw her arms up to protect herself. She shut her eyes tight, some part of her knowing that if this pickaxe was going into Jim's skull, she didn't want to have to witness it. There was a brief moment of limbo when she realized she hadn't heard the telltale smack of pickaxe breaking skull and she slowly opened her eyes.

"We don't kill the living," Rick stated. He had aimed a gun to the back of Daryl's head.

Begrudgingly, Daryl lowered his weapon and turned a cocky expression towards Rick. "That's funny comin' from a guy who just put a gun ta my head."

"We may disagree on some things, but not this," Shane explained, stepping between Jim and his would-be killer. "You put it down." Then, when Daryl hesitated, Shane adopted the same tone one would use with a wayward pet. "Go on," he added.

Nearly snarling, he stomped the pickaxe into the ground and stalked off.

Meg watched him leave, so focused she almost didn't notice Rick grabbing Jim, telling him that he was taking him somewhere safe. Safe was apparently the inside of the RV. Well, better in there then out in the sun. When the fever hit, it would be better to keep him cool. Crossing back to the other side of camp, she decided she might be put to some good use doing laundry.

She was about halfway to the quarry when she heard the gunshot.

Amy was dead. For real this time.

Allowing herself one moment to cross herself and send up a prayer for Amy's soul, she then got back to work and moved on.

That night, Shane surprised everyone by announcing that he had decided it would be best to follow Rick's intuition and head to the CDC.

Meg decided it wasn't the worst choice in the whole world.

When Meg returned to her tent, she found out that Amanda had already heard about the story of the second trip to Atlanta and the fact that Merle had been left behind. That was one less thing Meg had to worry about.

* * *

The next morning they all set out. It was just kind of unspoken that Amanda and Meg would be riding in Daryl's truck with him. They just kind of stuck together like that…

Yanking her backpack over her shoulder, she huddled up with the rest of the campers. Everyone was ready to set out and Rick and Shane, the dynamic duo, wanted a word with everyone.

"Everybody listen up," Shane began, letting his hands lightly grasp his shotgun. "Those of you with C.B.s we're gonna be on channel 40." Meg had no idea what that meant. "Let's keep the chatter down, okay? Now, you got a problem, don't have a C.B., can't get a signal or anything at all, you're gonna hit your horn one time. That'll stop the caravan. Any questions?"

A movement next to her caught her eye. Daryl had begun shifting on his feet, swiping at his face every once in a while. Meg observed him briefly as Morales began explaining that he had plans to take his family to Birmingham. Meg didn't think that was the smartest idea – breaking off from the group. Rick and Shane pretty much had their shit together… but, she did understand the desire to look for lost family members. She would do anything to go north and search for her parents.

Then, as Shane and Rick started handing out ammo to Morales, Daryl put a nail in his mouth and bit down. It was a gesture Meg performed herself, mostly when she was uncomfortable. When they handed him the gun, Daryl damn near rolled his eyes and gave a full circle turn. His eyes met hers for a second and once he realized she was looking at him, he pressed his lips together and pretended like he hadn't seen her.

Meg shifted her focus to the family. Tears were shed and goodbyes handed out frivolously, but not unappreciatively. Meg got on her knees to hug each child, as she had been a pretty frequent babysitter for half of them. Luckily, she managed to maintain most of her composure as they hopped in their car and drove away.

Daryl was biting his nail again.

"Come on," Shane announced. "Let's move out."

Somehow, Meg ended up between Amanda and Daryl. They had barely pulled out of the camp when Amanda turned to the hunter and demanded, "Tell us about your most embarrassing moment."

It was a game she liked to play – find the most reserved and quiet person in the group and bombard them with embarrassing questions. Usually she started with "Tell us a secret". And usually she had a beer in her hand while she was asking.

"No," he said simply.

"Why not?" Amanda whined.

"Because Daryl Dixon has never been embarrassed in his life," Meg snarked. "Am I right?"

"Yer a wise-ass," he sighed. "That's what ya are. Tha both a' ya."

"Fine," the blonde pouted. "Which one was your first tattoo?"

Daryl gave her a sidelong gaze and then glanced at Meg. His eyes focused back on the road and he finally gave up, "The name on my chest."

Well, that was one Meg had seen only a handful of times – usually when she was collecting the boy's laundry.

"Whose name is it?" Meg asked. It was honestly something she had wondered about.

"My ma's name," he said prickly. Okay, dangerous territory. Stay away.

"Favorite color?" Amanda asked.

"Green," he snapped back.

"Favorite food?"

"Steak."

"Blondes or brunettes?"

Another sidelong glance was thrown at Amanda. But this time he didn't look to Meg. "Right now?" he asked. "Brunettes."

"What age were you when you lost your virginity?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened considerably and he didn't look that them as he snarled, "Don't ya got somethin' better ta do than bother me?"

"Not really," Amanda shot him a sickly sweet smile. Then she huffed, "Fine, that was kind of personal – I take it back. So, then, what age were you when you first fell in love?"

"I ain't never been in love," he admitted after a moment with a shrug.

Meg observed him for a moment and then focused back on the hubcap of the car in front of them. She had no trouble believing that. For the most part, Daryl seemed like the kind of guy to hit it and quit it. Not like she could judge – she'd never been in love either. She just slid by with her two or three friends-with-benefits and called it a day. No big deal. And honestly, from the way Merle had always liked to brag, he had had his fair share of tail. She wasn't surprised that Daryl had followed in his brother's footsteps.

From the distance she was situated, she could barely see the very top of the RV at the head of the caravan, tilting back and forth. The sun blazed through the window and she squinted her eyes against it.

Daryl caught her frowning at the RV a few cars ahead. "Got somethin' against tha RV?"

"Oh," she snapped out of it. "No, I was just wondering how Jim was doing."

"He's dyin'," Daryl put simply, biting a nail. "How do ya expect he's doin'?"

"Pretty shitty," she admitted.

"Damn straight." Daryl gripped the wheel tighter.

That shut up the general conversation until the caravan stopped.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: The end of the year is here! Oh lord! Finals and parties and all different kinds of stupid boys doing stupid things to my wee little heart! Yes, I've decided this is basically my version of therapy: boys do something stupid and I console myself with writing a new chapter. Aren't y'all glad I suffer so you can be happy?**

* * *

Daisy Duke But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

"What tha fuck?" Daryl growled, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of what was going on up ahead.

Meg opened her door and was about to take a step out when Daryl's grip on her wrist stopped her. He shook his head and said, "I'll go check it out. Stay here. Lock the doors." He grabbed his crossbow, which had previously been situated between them, buffering the passengers alongside her handy axe.

It wasn't until he was stalking away with her safe and sound in the truck, all offended and whatnot that she realized she felt like she was ten. He was definitely older than her. Definitely. And had probably seen and dealt with a lot… but that didn't mean he got to order her around. With a huff, she grabbed her axe, hopped over a protesting Amanda, and followed him. Halfway up the caravan, he noticed her following him.

"Told ya to stay in tha truck," he said.

"I'm not deaf," she shot back and fell in step with him. Meg heard another set of footfalls behind her and glanced back. Amanda was staggering to catch up. "Go back," Meg suggested – well, ordered, more like. "We're just checking it out." Amanda hesitated and then flipped around.

"Ya should take yer own advice," Daryl suggested.

"I've always been very bad at that," she snarked.

"It'll get ya in trouble one day," he warned.

"Feel free to tell me, "I told ya so" when the time comes."

When they reached the head of the caravan, they realized they hadn't encountered trouble in the traditional sense: there was a malfunction with the RV.

"It's more duct tape than hose," Dale was explaining. "And I'm out of duct tape."

Daryl raised his crossbow and scouted around, making sure nothing was going to be sneaking up on them while they were in such a vulnerable position. Shane was standing nearby with binoculars and announced, "I see something up ahead."

"A gas station, if we're lucky," T-Dog put in.

Suddenly Jacqui came stumbling out of the RV. "Y'all, Jim – It's bad," she barely got out between breaths. "I don't think he can take anymore."

The hunter followed Jacqui as she stumbled back inside. He simply poked his head in to survey the damage and then hopped back out. Meg glanced at Daryl, surprised that he was looking to her, too. He squinted his face slightly as though to say, "Told ya". Meg didn't have the energy to respond, instead shifting her eyes to the ground, ignoring Rick and Shane as they discussed going to scout ahead.

However, when Rick went into the RV, Meg shifted one foot to the next, unsure.

Daryl leaned his crossbow on his shoulder and swaggered over to her. "Ya don't think it's safe either," he said.

"People can turn pretty quick sometimes," she offered. Fiddling with the handle of her axe, she used her nail to scrape some dried blood off of it. "I don't know whether it's safe. I don't know if I should have some kind of empathy. I don't want to think of him like a monster before his pulse even stops."

He watched her face for a bit. Then he shrugged. "If he ain't a threat now, he will be. Yer just tryin' ta keep yer people safe. Nothin' wrong 'bout that."

Leaning her axe against the RV, she yanked her baseball cap off and released her hair from the twisty-tie. With shaking fingers, she braided her long hair off to the side. "I know," she admitted. "But where's the line drawn? When do we start sacrificing our natural inclination towards helping and sympathizing with our fellow humans in favor of protecting the people we feel we have a bond with?" She secured her braid. "I feel like this world, as it is now, blurs that line. And it's wrong. And I don't want it to affect me like that… I don't want to be that _wrong_."

She adjusted her hat back on her head.

Daryl stared at her for a long second, his face squinting and then relaxing, before squinting again. In just the few weeks she had known him, she had grown familiar with that expression. Rick hopped out of the RV and Meg could hear his footfalls behind her. "Well," Daryl glanced up at her hat and then smirked. Walking past her, he joked, "Ya support tha Chicago Cubs – so there's already somethin' wrong with ya. Can't get much worse, can it?"

Her mouth fell open. Then she shut it with a _click_ and followed his retreating back with wide eyes. Slowly, a smile formed on her face and shook her head. Must be a Sox's fan, she decided. That fact, more than the tattoos, motorcycle and racist remarks made her think he was bad news. Damn straight, she supported her Cubs.

Deciding she had bothered the stupid redneck enough, she instead decided to go tell Amanda that everything was okay. Jogging back down the caravan, she slowed as she approached the truck. Amanda hopped out and asked, "So what's wrong?"

"The RV broke down," she recited, glancing back the way she came.

"That's all?" the blonde asked. When Meg responded with just a nod, Amanda narrowed her eyes, "Also, you need to watch your tone a bit."

"Hm?" Meg asked, shifting her eyes back to her friend.

"I have a medical condition. I'm not a child." She crossed her arms. "Don't treat me like one just because you're so used to taking care of me."

Meg looked Amanda up and down for a second and then nodded. Sometimes she did forget to treat Amanda like an equal – there was just something about wiping vomit from her friend's chin that made Meg think about taking care of an infant. But at the same point in time, Meg also wanted to protect Amanda and therefore didn't want to put her in unnecessary danger.

"Good," the blonde finally said. Then she hopped back into the car to wait to move on. Meg decided to rejoin the group up by the RV.

There was blood on her axe, she realized.

* * *

"It's what he says he wants," Rick began as they all circled up.

"And he's lucid?" Carol asked, as though she couldn't believe anyone would take that course of action unless they were crazy. Meg bristled. Crazy was staying with a man that beat you.

"He seems to be," Rick wiped his face in frustration. "I would say yes."

No one spoke for a second.

"Back at the camp, when I said Daryl might be right," Dale began. "And you shut me down, you misunderstood. I would never go along with callously killing a man." Meg peeked a look at Daryl to see his expression, and was disappointed to find he wasn't fazed by the implication that he was, in fact, capable of callously killing a man. Dale continued, "But I was just going to suggest that we ask Jim what he wants. And I think we have an answer."

From their expressions, no one else seemed to think that was an answer – or at least, the right answer.

"We just leave him here?" Shane asked. "We take off? Man, I'm not sure I could live with that."

"It's not your call. Either one of you," Lori put in, hands in pockets.

"There's nothing we can do," Meg put in. When they all turned to her, she suddenly felt self-conscious. What? She was how old? And suddenly she was an authority on morals? Looking to Rick, he gave a slight nod, telling her to go on. She took a deep breath and continued, "It doesn't matter where he goes – he's going to die soon. And then he'll reanimate. If he'd rather be left behind because it hurts too much to be in a moving vehicle, then we should let him stay. He'd be in less pain and we'd be safer. It's terrible. It feels terrible," she closed her eyes against the emotional pain. "But I don't think we have any other choice. And that sucks," her voice cracked as she concluded her speech.

Rick went to grab Jim. Shane followed. No one spoke.

Meg almost didn't want to turn around to see who was watching her, but she wanted to be there when Jim was… situated. Slowly, she faced the group. Both Carol and Lori were too focused on the RV to pay any attention to her. Dale gave her a reassuring smile. Daryl on the other hand… well, he pointed at her hat.

"I told ya," he gave a lazy one shoulder shrug. "Yer a Cubs fan. That makes ya a terrible person by default."

She stared at him for a long, hard second before a corner of her mouth jumped upward involuntarily. Daryl saw it regardless and gave her an upwards nod.

The two cops reappeared, dragging Jim gingerly. The survivors followed them up the side of the road. When they placed him against the tree he gave a deep sigh. "Another tree?" he asked as though it were an inside joke.

No one laughed.

"Hey Jim," Shane started. "I mean, you know, it doesn't need to be this."

"No," the dying man put simply. "It's good. The breeze feels nice."

Shane gave a pained wince and spoke again, "Okay. All right." He tapped the other man's leg affectionately and backed away.

Jacqui was the second person to approach him. She smiled at him and encouraged, "Just close your eyes, sweetie. Don't fight."

Meg couldn't help but feel that that bit of advice went against everything every human had ever been taught. That was how they survived – by fighting. By clawing and screaming and doing whatever needed to be done to get out of a situation alive. To suddenly give up that fight… Meg didn't think she had that self-control.

The woman gave him a motherly kiss on the cheek and then backed away.

Now it was Rick's turn. He started off very professional, "Jim, do you want this?" At first Meg thought that he was having second thoughts – then she saw the gun in his hand. Rick was offering him a bit of protection in case he would rather shoot himself in the head and be done with it… or if he encountered a walker and didn't want to be eaten alive. It was a smart offer.

Jim didn't take it. "No," he said. "You'll need it." When Rick hesitated, Jim grit his teeth and simply said, "I'm okay."

"Thanks for uh, for fighting for us," Dale said as he patted Jim's leg. The man was trying so hard not to cry. It physically hurt Meg to keep watching. She knew they had been close friends.

Letting the tears spill over, Meg gave up the façade of trying to stay tough. A man was dying. A man was dying of something terrible and he was dying with the knowledge that the second his pulse stopped – his body would gain a mind of it's own and try to kill and eat everything it came across. How was that not heart wrenching? Stumbling back down the road, Meg tried not to think about the fact that she didn't say goodbye, that she didn't have the strength to say goodbye. That she didn't know how to say goodbye. Chucking the baseball cap further down on her head, she wiped absently at her tears. All she wanted to do was get in Daryl's truck and get to the CDC as fast as possible.

She turned back to see if Daryl was done with his goodbyes and instead watched as he adjusted his grip on his crossbow. He took a few steps closer to Jim and Meg had a brief heart attack.

Was Daryl going to shoot Jim to put him out of his misery, like a rabid dog?

Taking a few weak steps forward, she was about to call out when instead Daryl changed course, gave Jim a definite nod and let the crossbow go limp against his chest.

As he rejoined the group, he caught Meg looking at him.

"What?" he snapped.

She gave a sharp shake of her head and looked to the ground.

His face went all squinty again, as he got closer to her. He narrowed his eyes as he caught a better glimpse of her face and belatedly she remembered that he could probably tell she'd been recently crying. It also didn't help that the bruises still hadn't faded one bit. She half expected a snappy, mean remark, or even something about being a Cubs fan and how that must make her a terrible person. Instead, he grabbed the axe from her hands. She had forgotten that she was carrying it.

"This needs ta be cleaned," he stated, inspecting it.

"I noticed," she sniffed.

"If ya don't clean it, it won't kill as good," he offered the advice in the same way he offered her back her axe. "It'll rust and just make an even bigger mess a' things when yer tryin' ta kill walkers."

She inspected the stained blade for a second. Then looked back at him. "Thank you," was all she said. But, she felt he still got the full meaning.

Nodding down to road, Daryl headed back towards the truck and Meg followed, not having the balls to look back.

Meg kept her eyes trained out the window, trying not to think about the man they had left behind. Amanda had fallen asleep against the window and had been pretty unperturbed when Meg had explained what happened. Lucky girl, Meg thought. Mostly Meg was pondering what he would do? Sit and stare up at the sky until his pulse stopped? Probably. She hoped briefly that he would survive until the night fell and the temperature dropped so that he would have at least a bit of relief from the raging fever.

Maybe Daryl saw something in her face. Maybe he was feeling guilty too. Maybe he just felt the need to say, "Nothin' we coulda done."

Giving him a sidelong gaze, she said, "I know."

"Then stop yer pouting."

Hmph, so maybe he _had_ noticed her forlorn expression.

"I'm not pouting," she protested. "I'm pondering. There is a distinct difference."

"Yeah," Daryl smirked over at her. "One a' tha words is longer."

She blinked at him twice, unsure if he was joking. Surely he was joking. Yeah, he was probably joking. That was the thing about this man: he had a way of coming off as an idiot, while secretly, she knew he harbored a decent amount of intelligence. Meg let her fingers dance along the wooden handle of her axe and glanced down at it.

Her mind wanted to be anywhere besides sinking in her guilt. So, she let her thoughts jump elsewhere.

"I'm thinking about naming it," she started simply.

"Namin' what?"

"The axe. My axe." She lifted it up a bit to show him and Daryl didn't hesitate to glance down into her lap. "I feel like it deserves a name. I mean, it's been with me since we left Illinois."

Squinting his face at her a few times, she could tell he was trying to figure out if she was joking. _Touche, _she thought with a mental smirk. Two can play at that game.

"It's a _thing_," he argued. "It's a fuckin' inanimate object. What business you got givin' it a name?"

"Don't tell me you haven't named your crossbow," she gestured to the weapon situated between them.

He was silent for a brief moment and then hit the steering wheel lightly with the palm of his hand. "Damn, girl. That is tha stupidest fuckin' thing I ever heard."

"Ha!" she sat up straighter and pointed an accusing finger at him. "So you've thought about it!"

"Ya wanna lose that finger?"

Instead of a response, she let her forefinger curl back in close to her hand just in case he was serious.

But even if there was some truth to his words, for some reason Meg didn't feel even a bit worried. Yeah, he could bite – hard. But sometimes, around certain people, he was mostly bark. Meg recalled briefly a moment she had witnessed before the caravan had left their initial campsite. Sophia had been trying to roast a small bit of leftover squirrel meat but didn't have her stick close enough to the campfire to properly cook it. The hunter had been walking past, focused on his own tasks but had noticed that the girl wasn't going to get anything accomplished. Throwing his folded up tent to the ground, he roughly put his hand over hers and pushed her arm a little farther down. "Jesus," he had muttered. "Don't any a' ya know how ta cook?" Sophia had squeaked out a little thank you that Daryl ignored as he resumed his work.

Whatever exterior Daryl gave off, that wasn't all there was to the hunter. Not by a long shot.

Despite not feeling threatened, Meg still decided that she was done pestering him – and talking in general. With a small smile, she shifted so she could comfortably look past Amanda's head, out the window. They continued on in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I'm late. Maybe I'll cry about it later. For now, this is my apology. Ta-da.**

**Also, this whole image manager thing is pretty damn awesome. It gives me one more thing to get all perfectionistic about. But also… it's cool. And creative. As an advocator of Original Character stories, but also someone who despises authors who do the whole "my character looks just like this actress", I think this is a great tool to give readers just a bit of a taste of what the original character is like.**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

When the caravan pulled up to the side of the road, Meg vaguely wondered if there was another problem – Dale had gotten his RV back up and running but that didn't mean that it was a permanent solution. Sticking her head clear out the window, she realized that her suspicions were unfounded – they had stopped because they had reached their destination.

"Follow close behind me," Daryl warned, slinking out of the car. Meg tried not to feel patronized as she followed Amanda out of the car. She yanked her axe out the door with her. She wasted only one moment to also grab her backpack from the bed of the truck and then she bounced up behind Daryl.

As they rejoined the group, Meg disobeyed orders and instead walked around the hunter to come up next to Amanda incase she needed her. In a wave of caution, the group moved forward – the men preparing for battle by cocking their guns. Daryl himself was armed with both his crossbow and a shotgun Meg didn't remember him having.

The area was littered with bodies and from this distance Meg couldn't tell if they were infected and lurkers, or a group that had been slaughtered pre-infection. Grimaces made their way to everyone's face as they took in the scene. Meg herself gulped as she glimpsed an extremely decayed body with flies orbiting around it.

Rick led the group. Carol held tight to Sophia and Lori was guiding Carl. Briefly Meg thought to grab Amanda, but that would mean putting her weapon down and she wasn't much use without a weapon. Also, she might be yelled at again for treating her like a child.

"All right everybody," Shane whispered just loud enough for the living to hear. "Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet," he encouraged. "Let's go."

The flies were overwhelming – even more than the smell. Most everyone was pressing their forearms to their noses to block the scent. Even Daryl was gritting his teeth. Meg used her left hand to hold her shirt over her nose and continued trudging forward.

"Okay, keep moving, stay together."

It wasn't until they had waded pretty deeply into the fray that Meg realized the sun was setting. It was a well-known fact that the walkers were more active in the dark – especially when the temperatures were rather scalding during the day. If these dead bodies were secretly lurkers, then Rick would be leading them right into a very dangerous trap – they were already pretty cut off from their vehicles and some of the cars were really low on gas. Really low. She had glanced at Daryl's gas gauge and been shocked that the car was still moving.

They approached the metal paneled doors and Meg could almost feel the relief flowing off of her. They were so close to safety.

The sky was darkening so quickly.

Rick pounded on the doors and when there was no immediate response Meg could feel every doubt she had had since the apocalypse had started bearing down on her – cutting into her shoulders, pressing her head down and choking around her throat. This had all been a mistake.

"There's nobody here," T-Dog finally voiced the opinion everyone else shared.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick asked.

Meg didn't have the chance to ponder why the building was still on lockdown. She removed her shirt from over her nose and used her free hand to reach out and grab Amanda on the shoulder. Her friend gave her a desperate glance and gulped.

When she gave a mild wince in fear, Meg decided she couldn't take it. Rick wasn't willing to admit this was a wrong move and Meg didn't know if Shane would oppose his old partner quickly enough for it to make a difference.

So, she turned to Daryl.

She turned to him just in time to see him raise his gun and shout, "Walkers!"

Shit! She hefted her axe up. They had been lurkers. They trapped themselves in with a bunch of lurkers.

Daryl lifted his crossbow in favor of his shotgun and took the lone walker down before he rounded on Rick. In what Meg realized was true Daryl fashion, he shouted, "Ya led us inta a graveyard!"

Shane immediately jumped to his partner's defense, "He made a call."

"It was tha wrong damn call!" Daryl shot back, getting into Shane's face. Not that Shane wasn't getting in Daryl's face as well.

"Just shut up," Shane bumped chests with Daryl, but no punches were thrown. "You hear me? Shut up. Shut up!" Then he turned to the more immediate problem. "Rick, this is a dead end."

Carol grasped at Sophia and asked, "Where are we gonna go?"

Good question, Meg was wondering that herself. She glanced at Daryl again, but didn't bother to wonder why she was looking to that man in favor of the true leader of the group. Why did she think that that redneck had all the answers?

"Do you hear me? No blame," Shane said.

"She's right," Lori exclaimed. "We can't be here, this close to the city after dark."

Shane gave one last attempt, "Fort Benning, Rick – still an option."

"On what?" Andrea asked. "No food, no fuel. That's 100 miles."

"125," Glenn put in. "I checked the map."

"Forget Fort Benning," Lori demanded. Carl was wincing under her grip. "We need answers _tonight. Now._"

"Well, think of something!" Rick shouted.

And while Rick was trying to think, the rest of the group decided it was time to leave. Grasping Amanda's arm, she tried to follow after the group. It felt wrong leaving Rick, but he only had one gun. The rest all had lots more guns and if she and her friend were going to survive getting back to those cars, she'd rather be with the group with more guns. Besides, Daryl was also turning back – turning back to find her with his eyes and nod towards following the group.

"Come on," the Dixon grabbed Meg's arm and tugged her along as Meg tugged Amanda along.

"The camera!" Rick announced. "It moved!"

Meg stopped moving and Daryl stumbled, not knowing she had planned to pause. If the camera moved, someone must be there.

"You imagined it," Dale claimed.

"It moved," Rick stuck to his guns.

Daryl tried to pull Meg again, but she wrenched herself out of his grip and planted her feet.

When Rick repeated, "It moved."

Shane came jogging up. "Rick, it is dead, man. It's an automated device. It's gears, okay? They're just winding down. Now, come on." He grabbed his friend by the bicep and tried to move him.

Almost to echo Shane's actions, Daryl reached for Meg again and this time she allowed herself to be pulled away from the scene. She managed to glance up at him and noted the way his jaw was set and his eyes were aflame with focus on his impending prey. A sudden pounding rang out and Meg nearly tripped over herself as she glanced back, hoping and praying that the noise was on account of the metal panels being opened. No such luck.

"I know you're in there," Rick claimed. "I know you can hear me."

"Shit," Daryl muttered as he pulled them to a stop. More walkers had gotten up and that pounding was doing nothing to help them. Their path was blocked. He let Meg go so that he was free to reload his crossbow. Not that that did any good. The shotgun was probably a better bet at this point.

A gasp caught Meg's attention – Amanda was holding her throat and she began giving desperate gasps. Her heart, Meg realized. It must be beating way too fast for her to handle. Someone needed to do something – now.

"Please help us!" Rick was continuing. "We have women! Children! No food! Hardly any gas left! Please!"

Shoving Carl towards the closest person, which happened to be Meg, Lori took off to get Rick's attention. Meg wrapped one arm around Amanda and the other around Carl, careful to keep the axe from getting in the way. Lori shouted, "Rick! There's nobody here!"

"We have nowhere else to go!" He ignored her. "If you don't let us in, you're killing us."

Carl gave a little gasp and Meg tightened her grip. Daryl glanced at her and her companions, pacing back and forth. His attention shifted from the rest of the group, to the walkers in the distance, to Meg, to Rick, back to the walkers. Lori came to collect Carl, pulling him to her chest and trying to shield his view of his father – and the walkers on the other side.

Finally Shane had had enough. He ran over and began to forcefully yank Rick back. Apparently if his partner wasn't going to come by himself, Shane was going to make him come.

Having totally lost his composure, Rick fought against Shane, screaming, "You're killing us! You're killing us!"

Amanda began to cry and sag a bit in Meg's arms.

Shane had just given Rick a good old shove towards the cars when suddenly the doors opened. Like the Red Sea parting, the metal was wretched upwards – each inch revealing a little slice of lit heaven. Light spilled out onto the ground in front of them. Everyone turned to stare for a moment and it seemed like communal paralysis had overtaken the entire group. No one moved for a desperate second. Then suddenly, Shane ordered, "Daryl, you cover the back!"

He did so immediately, gun poised to shoot at anything out there that dared to show it's ugly face.

Everyone nearly tripped over themselves to get into the safety of the building.

"Hello?" Rick asked. When no one answered he turned back and commanded, "Close those doors. Watch for walkers."

Meg had held back a bit, not wanting to stray too far from Daryl and noticed the little keypad on the side of the wall. Stumbling over, she looked around frantically for something that would close the doors. There were just numbers. She turned to Shane, but noticed that he was no longer paying attention. Everyone was glancing around. Surely someone had opened the doors so where were they?

"Hello?" a voice called out.

Every single person with a gun immediately raised them at the new target… which happened to be a man standing in the dark shadows as though they could protect him, a gun of his own in his hands. "Anybody infected?" he asked.

Always the Honest Abe, Rick admitted, "One of our group was. He didn't make it."

"Then what's that?" the man pointed to Meg.

Startled, Meg looked at each member of the group, then the man, then herself. Oh, her bandage! It was the wrist Daryl had cleaned and covered. Ripping the bandage off she showed him the scabbed skin, "Tree bark, not walkers."

"Why are you here? What do you want?" the man rattled off.

"A chance," Rick said.

"That's asking an awful lot these days," the man said ominously. So ominously in fact that Meg pushed Amanda behind her own body to keep her out of the direct path of the gun he was holding. Daryl watched her movement, and readjusted the grip on his own weapon.

Rick shrugged, but didn't lower his own weapon. "I know," he admitted.

The man didn't take Rick's sincere responses immediately. Instead, he glanced around at each member of the group. Meg was relieved to note that his gaze lingered the longest on the women with their children. So, he did at least have a heart.

"You all submit to a blood test," he finally relented. "That's the price of admission."

"We can do that," he immediately agreed.

The man finally lowered his gun and announced, "You got stuff to bring in, do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed."

Rick turned to the group, "Shane, Glenn, Daryl – come on!"

With almost no words spoken, the four of them slipped out of the building and back into the dark outside. The women and children stood in silence, hoping for the best as T-Dog and Dale guarded the door. Meg could hear her heart beating at a rate that probably wasn't safe, loudly and obnoxiously. She tried to calm down so that she could listen for the noises going on outside. Footfalls faded, car doors opened and slammed and then the footsteps gained volume – and speed the closer they got. Suddenly, all four came sprinting in and the doors were closed tightly behind them.

Meg watched as the man used verbal commands to close the metal panels and kill the power on the top level.

Something brushed against her arm and she turned to find her friend. Amanda smiled at her a little bit and she returned the smile before squeezing her shoulder.

They had made it.

"Dr. Edwin Jenner," the man gave up hesitantly. With a jerk of his head, he gestured them to follow as he descended a flight of stairs and then hopped on an elevator. Luckily, everyone was able to fit – even though it was a tight squeeze.

Meg made the mistake of hesitating before getting on the elevator, thinking it might need to make two trips. Eventually she did get on and tried to make herself as small as possible – she had never liked getting in people's personal space if she could help it. For the most part, she felt she had done a nice job – but she was a little close to whoever was behind her. She could feel her butt lightly press against the poor sap. Belatedly, she hoped it was Amanda. Less awkward that way.

"Doctors always go 'round packing heat like that?" Daryl's voice asked. From right behind her.

Blushing five different shades of purple, she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. And there he was, up close and personal. And from this angle, she realized her ass wasn't pressed against him just anywhere – it was brushing against his upper thigh… dangerously close to places Meg didn't want to think about. Well, didn't want to think about right now.

He noticed her looking at him, and glanced down briefly, his face going all squinty.

"There were plenty left lying around," Jenner explained. Meg was relieved when Daryl turned his attention back to the doctor. "I familiarized myself." He looked around for a bit and then added, "But you look harmless enough. Except you," he said to Carl. "I'll have to keep my eye on you."

Carl looked as though he didn't know whether to smile or not, but a grin did eventually pull at his lips.

They got off the elevator and went down another flight of stairs. No one said much of anything as they walked down a hallway.

"Are we underground?" Carol asked. Because, like, the ten floors they went down in the elevator indicated that they were still in fact, above ground.

Jenner caught the meaning in her words, "Are you claustrophobic?"

"A little."

"Try not to think about it." They entered a dark room. "Vi, bring up the lights in the big room."

The whole place was empty.

Meg could feel her stomach dropping. They were all safe, but where was everyone?

"Welcome to Zone 5," Jenner said.

"Where is everybody?" Rick voiced the question everyone was asking mentally. "The other doctors? The staff?"

Jenner shrugged. "I'm it. It's just me here."

_Shit,_ Meg mentally cursed.

Lori spoke up, "What about the person you were speaking with?"

Eh, Meg wouldn't say they had been speaking exactly – more like Jenner was commanding her.

"Vi," Jenner said. "Say hello to our guests. Tell them… Welcome."

"Hello, guests," the robot voice said. "Welcome."

"I'm all that's left," he repeated. That wasn't good enough, he realized so he added, "I'm sorry."

He turned around and walked into another room.

Rick turned to the group with a frown. "We're protected from the walkers," he began. "And right now, that's all that matters. We came looking for answers, not people," he reminded the group.

"Who's first?" Jenner asked, holding up a syringe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Boom. I did it again. Be warned, there is drama. There is all kinds of drama. Because I love screwing people over. Happiness during a zombie apocalypse is overrated.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

Jenner was quick to get through everyone, but it wasn't until he reached the end, with Andrea that he learned that food had been in short supply. Most of the left overs from before the walker attack had gone to the children and Andrea herself hadn't had much of an appetite. It was easy to ignore a growling stomach once you got used to it and eventually you just forgot to eat even when there was opportunity.

"There is a kitchen area in the back," the host explained. "Go help yourselves and I'll finish up here."

They filed out except for Meg. She paused that the door. "Could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Go out the hallway, second door to your right," the doctor didn't even look up from the syringes.

After finishing her business, Meg stood in front of the mirror on the wall. Damn, the Georgia sun had done a number on her skin – mostly it had tanned, but there were still parts, like her nose and cheeks, that were red and peeling. Her braided hair had gained a distinct shine from lack of washing. Pouting a bit at her reflection, she finally decided that there was only so much a lady could do for her appearance during a zombie apocalypse. With a sigh, she left the restroom…

And nearly bumped right into Daryl.

He was still clutching his crossbow and shotgun so she knew he hadn't joined the group yet – he had never left.

"Why aren't you with the others?" she asked, glancing around.

"Ain't hungry," he shrugged. Then he turned and continued their journey down the hall, solo. With a frown at his back, she crossed her arms.

"You're lying," she accused.

"Ya said it yerself," he said, slowing his pace but not stopping. "This here world does crazy shit ta people. Ya weren't with tha group. Figured I should come find ya. Ya find get yerself lost."

Quite frankly, that annoyed her. "I know my way around places, Daryl," she crossed her arms. "I'm not a child and I'm actually pretty damn intelligent. I can handle myself just fine – I don't need you following me around to make sure I can find my way back."

Daryl stopped walking near the double doors leading to the kitchen. "I was just makin' sure. Thought I'd stick 'round in case ya got yerself into some trouble."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" she snarked. How old was she? Pretty young, but not young enough to need some dude watching her back every second of every day. She could handle some things on her own, and like hell she was going to thank him for sticking his nose in her business without her permission.

"For watchin' yer back? Yeah, that'd be nice."

She observed him for a bit, biting her lip. "I appreciate your concern, but it's unwarranted and I'd much prefer it if you minded your own business. I never asked for your help," she finally said. "I can take care of my own problems, myself." Vaguely, she recognized that her language had turned overly formal and at some level she knew that she was doing that to piss the redneck off. And judging by the way his body tensed and he shifted on his feet like an angry cat, she knew she had struck a nerve. Good.

Daryl narrowed his eyes for a brief second and scowled. "Ya may think that, but yer wrong. Ya got no idea what tha fuck yer doing most a' tha time. My advice: quit actin' all ballsy and figure out that ya have no fuckin' clue what yer fuckin' doin'," he raised his voice a bit and pointed an angry finger at her. "Things'll be a whole helluv a lot better for both ya and that annoyin' friend a' yers." Swinging his crossbow over his back, he pushed open the kitchen doors. "Fuckin' ungrateful yankee," he muttered and disappeared inside.

After a brief moment, she followed him.

Amanda raised her eyebrows to see them come into the room together, one right after the other but Meg just shook her head, mentally conveying that she'd explain later – if she explained at all.

The group had found some quick snacks to keep everyone's blood sugar up and running but the women had already decided to start on a real meal. And, as Meg grabbed a bit of salt from a high cabinet, she had to admit that this certainly beat cooking outdoors. Jenner snuck in and was immediately seated at the place of honor as the women hustled and bustled around, utensils flying everywhere. Finally, their meal was complete and everyone sat down to enjoy the food.

Alcohol was being served with the meal and when Amanda immediately reached for the bottle of wine, Meg contented herself to a nice mix of whiskey and coke. As she reached for the whiskey bottle, however, Rick spoke up, "Young lady, I'm pretty sure you're underage."

Batting her eyelashes at the man, she joked, "Why yes, officer. I am in fact underage. You gonna arrest me?"

Rick stared at her for a long moment, narrowing his eyes in jest. Then he chuckled, "Nah, enjoy your drink."

"Oh," she snarked, taking a sip. "I intend to."

Dale stood to pour Lori some wine. "You know, in Italy," he began. "Children have a little bit of wine with dinner – and in France."

"Well," Lori placed a hand over Carl's glass. "When Carl is in Italy or France he can have some then."

Rick chuckled, "What's it gonna hurt? Come on."

Giving in a bit, Lori finally pulled her hand away and let Dale pour some in. The whole group gave a cheer. Meg, herself, took another sip of her whiskey/cola mix. God, when was the last time she had had Jack and Coke? At that last party she and Amanda had gone to… at that one apartment. Jesus, it had been that long since she'd been smashed? No wonder she was so frustrated.

"There you are lad," Dale handed the partially filled cup over.

Meg watched with an amused expression as Carl took a sip and then immediately said, "Ew!"

Everyone laughed. Well yeah, wine was disgusting. Then, she tried to catch Daryl's eye from across the room. He was sipping at his whiskey and watching the little Grimes family, but never did his eyes stray to her.

"That's my boy, that's my boy," Lori added his cup to her own glass.

"That tastes disgusting," Carl finally was able to say.

"Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud," Shane suggested.

Then suddenly, Daryl's voice rang out and Meg nearly jumped. "Not you, Glenn," he said.

"What?" the little Korean looked vaguely confused but maintained his smile. It was hard to frown when they were safe and their bellies were full.

"Keep drinking little man," Daryl leaned over the table. "I want to see how red your face can get."

This caused everyone to burst out laughing and even Meg had to flash a smile. Glenn accepted the abuse as playful teasing and gave a good hardy chuckle of his own. Meg glanced at Amanda, how was on her second glass of wine. That might not end well, but at least her heart rate was in a good place, with the alcohol and all.

Rick clinking his glass and standing up made Meg shift her focus. "It seems to me, we haven't thanked our host properly yet," he announced. True that.

"He is more than just our host," T-Dog added, lifting his glass.

Everyone raised their glasses, "Hear hear!"

"Here's to ya, doc!" Daryl lifted his bottle instead. "Booyah!"

Then everyone joined in a chorus of "booyah"s and clinked glasses. Meg tapped glasses with Sophia and then turned to the person behind her – who she assumed was Glenn. No such luck. It was Daryl.

"Booyah," she said after a pause and clinked his glass.

He allowed his glass to be tapped before muttering, "Booyah."

Well… that wasn't awkward or anything.

And then came the Debbie Downer of the night. God, Meg should have know something was up when Amanda leaned over and with wine on her breath asked, "What crawled up his ass and died?" Meg hadn't cared to find out.

"So when are you going to tell us what the hell happened here, doc?" Shane asked carelessly but piercingly. "All the uh, the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?" He stared at his wine in concentration and Meg got a shiver down her spine. Something was wrong with this man.

"We're celebrating, Shane," came Rick's response. "Don't need to do this now."

"Whoa, wait a second," Shane put a hand up. "This is why we're here, right? This was your move, supposed to find all the answers. Instead we," he cut off to give a snort and Meg narrowed her eyes. Asshat. "We found him." Jerking a thumb, he gave another snort. "Found one man. Why?"

Jenner looked at him dumbfounded for a moment and Meg couldn't help the snort that left her own nose.

But no one spoke up to tell Shane to back off. Secretly, they were curious too.

"Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left," Jenner explained. "Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted." Meg remembered all too well the dead bodies right outside, sprawled about like it was nobody's business. She might have bolted too.

"Every last one?" Shane slouched in his chair, still skeptical.

Jenner leaned forward a bit and said, "No. Many couldn't face walking out the door. They… opted out." No one looked at each other; they all knew what that meant. "There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time," he added, with a forlorn expression.

"You didn't leave," Andrea put in. "Why?"

He didn't make eye contact as he shrugged and explained, "I just kept working, hoping to do some good."

Andrea's expression morphed from quizzical to admiration in slow motion. Even Meg felt immense respect for the man, considering that he had held out for so long. She couldn't even begin to imagine it.

"Dude," Glenn groaned. "You are such a buzzkill, man."

"Yes!" Amanda pointed at Shane. "Such a buzzkill. Damn…" she signed. It was only then that Meg noticed the bottle of wine that had been nearby was almost empty. How much had she had to drink?

* * *

Meg found out just how much Amanda had to drink, later that night when she was holding the girl's hair back. And Meg thought her hair-holding days were over, what with the world as they knew it being over. Guess even Amanda's fondness of wine still managed to permeate the apocalypse. Helping the drunk onto her couch, Meg grabbed a trashcan and pushed her hair from the blonde's face.

"You stay right here," Meg ordered. Then she sat herself down on the other end couch. She didn't feel the least bit tired. Leaning head on her hand, she was pleased to discover that her face had gone numb. Ha, how much had _she_ had to drink?

"Not enough," she decided, crawling off the couch, over to the coffee table. Lifting the bottle to her mouth she took a gulp of straight whiskey, pleased that it was going down so nice.

After taking two more gulps, she decided there was someone she needed to talk to.

Stumbling out of the room, bottle in hand, she made her way down the hallway. The first door was Glenn. The second was… T-Dog? And then Andrea… Dale. Who else was with them? Where was Morales? Was he here? No, no, no, he had left. Maybe he was dead. For a moment, Meg stopped. Who had she needed to talk to again? Right – her Orion. Gots to find her hunter. Last door. Right, he had picked a room super far away from hers. Stupid man – making her life difficult and shit.

After the fifth or sixth time knocking, he whipped his door open. From the way his eyes were glazed over, she knew he was drunk too. Good.

"Pills," she announced, handing him the little orange bottle. Pushing past him, she swaggered into his room. "I yelled at you," she stated, sitting on his couch. She took another sip of whiskey. "That was mean. I didn't mean to. Well, I meant to – I thought it was a good idea at the time. But I was wrong. I regret it." When he didn't say anything; just leaned against the wall, she slouched, "That means I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he pushed off the wall and came to sit next to her, spreading his body out in the way only a man could get away with. "I got that."

There was too much distance between them – the couch was so long. She slid herself over bit by bit until her thigh pressed against his.

"Am… I forgiven?" she asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Yeah," he admitted. "Wasn't that mad in tha first place."

Giving a lazy nod, she leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt him tense slightly and then relax. "Good, I don't like you mad at me."

"How much have ya had ta drink?" he asked.

"Don't know," she whispered into his shoulder. He smelled good. Not Daryl-good, all woodsy and musk and man, but soap-good, all fresh out of the shower and shit. Then, she suddenly shot up and leaned into him, smiling like a devil. He glanced down and she knew he could feel her breast pressed against his arm. "Hey, you're hot," she cocked her head to the side. "We should hook up."

When all he did was squint at her, she frowned and got impatient. Finally, she just took the initiative and pressed her lips to his. He allowed her to kiss him. His mouth even began to slowly move against hers. But when she tried to place her hands on his shoulders and slip into his lap, he grabbed her wrists and pulled away. "No," was all he said. "Get off," he grumbled and tried to tilt her off his leg. Instead, she fell right off the couch and onto her behind. Luckily the floor was carpeted.

She looked up at him with a drunk, rejected and injured face.

"What?" was all she could get out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Yer drunk off yer ass," he stood and made his way to the door. "Besides, yer just a kid. "Hookin' up?" What the fuck is that?" He opened the door.

Meg remained on the floor for only a minute as her drunk mind processed his words. When they finally did, she saw red. Bright, angry red. Grabbing her whiskey bottle, she stood up on shaking legs and migrated towards the door. But instead of exiting, she glared up at him. "Maybe I'm just a kid," she sneered. "But I bet I have more experience than you. I noticed how you avoided the virgin question. What, you like dick more? Figures, with my luck," she finished in a murmur and made to leave.

Instead, she was grabbed by her upper arms and forced against the wall.

"Ya'd best watch yer mouth," he snarled, his spit speckling her face.

The rough movement had startled her and a small whimper escaped her mouth. Even though the whiskey numbed her, his grip was so crushing that she could feel his fingertips in her bones. What a sight they made: the redneck with a shitty and violent family life, pinning a frightened girl, already littered with bruises. Almost immediately, he seemed to realize the pain he was putting her in and how afraid she suddenly was. He dropped her and she slid all the way to the floor. Meg honestly couldn't pinpoint who looked more afraid in that moment – her, slouched on the floor, watching him warily with the one eye she could see out of, or him, hands shaking and eyes uncharacteristically wide as he backed away from her.

The carpet was wet, she realized. Tearing her eyes away from the violent man, she glanced down. Her whiskey was spilling from the bottle. When had she dropped it?

Her head again swiveled up to the man as he began to pace, running his hands through his sandy hair.

"You're such…" she trailed off, her mouth hanging wide. "A good man."

He stopped briefly to squint at her. Obviously, given that spectacle, he couldn't believe that she still thought that.

"No, no," she reached for her tilted bottle and righted it. "I said something so epically shitty, so fucking unforgivable and terribly immature and you didn't hit me. I fucking questioned your manhood and you didn't hurt me. I'm pretty damn sure Carol breathed through the wrong nostril and Ed would have beat her black and blue. And you," she pointed. "You look so, so, so upset at just the _idea_ that you'd hurt me. Fuck." She put her head in her hands, her head cleared briefly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I came here. No. I know why I came here. I like you, is all. You're so independent and so strong and you take care of me and watch my back even when I don't want you to and usually I'm the one taking care of people, so it's just nice.

"And you do so much for everyone. You keep us safe and you fed us and no one ever gave you or Merle the time of day. They never thanked you, did they? But you still stayed and helped and I know you didn't want to leave camp in case Merle came back – I saw you fidgeting before we left. Hell, I see nearly everything you do." Frowning she realized, "That sounded weird. Ignore that." Finally she shrugged, "I just think people need to give you more credit. Yeah. Also, I like kissing you."

With that, she used the wall to steady herself and slid into a standing position. "I need to make sure that Amanda is breathing," she explained. "Sorry… again."

And then she stumbled over to the doorknob. About to open the door, his voiced reached her, "Yer gonna need these." He pushed the orange bottle of painkillers into her hand. "Best believe yer gonna have one nasty hangover in tha mornin'."

Meg shook her head but took the pills back anyways. "I don't get hangovers," she informed him. "It's the beauty of having an alcoholic as a father – genetics work in my favor." She glanced down at the bottle. "Thanks," she murmured.

Giving her a solid nod, he held the door open for her. She was barely out the door when he said, "In case ya were wonderin', I like kissin' ya too."

And then the door shut behind her.

For a solid two minutes, she stared at the wood of the door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had she really just heard that? Probably. Shit. Awesome.

But really, it was time to check if Amanda was still breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Ha! I definitely had a bit of a boo-boo last chapter… When I had first started writing this story, Meg's companion was actually one of her brothers, not her friend Amanda. For the most part, only two chapters had been written with the brother before I backtracked and opted for Amanda instead. I had thought I'd gone through those chapters and fixed the names/actions/dialogue. I apparently missed some, though, and a reviewer was kind enough to point it out to me. So, thank you for that. I don't really like asking for reviews because I'm such a stingy reviewer myself, but what I do ask is that if people find a mistake of any kind to just shoot me a note and tell me. It's the self-loathing perfectionist in me.**

**In honor of the Walking Dead marathon this weekend, you'll get another chapter tomorrow – I promise!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

The first thing Meg realized when she woke up was that there was light bothering both her eyes – as in, both eyes were capable of sight. Oh, yay! Her eye must have deflated after all this time! Depth perception! She had it again. Well, maybe that made up for her killer headache.

"Meg," Amanda groaned above her.

"Wha?" she mumbled. Rolling over, she squinted up at her friend and realized that she was standing over her and kicking her with her toes. What a bitch.

"Take a shower," she commanded. "I'm getting breakfast."

With a guttural yawn, Meg came to another realization: she was on the floor. How had she gotten on the floor?

And why the fuck did her head feel like someone had spilt it open with a pickaxe?

Oh Lord, she rolled over again tried to push herself up – just in time to hear the door close behind Amanda. Meg tried to remember if the girl had thought to change out of her clothes she had been wearing the day before… probably not. Crawling on hands and knees, she made her way to her back and pulled a fresh tank top and shorts. Then, she showered.

True to what she had told Daryl, there was a slight headache pounding between her eyes, but other than that she felt just fine. Rolling the pill bottle between her fingers, she decided that it wasn't worth taking any of the painkillers. With a great sigh, she slipped it into her jean's pocket.

Glancing into the bathroom mirror, she was a little frightened to discover that her face had gone from the harsh blue to a deep purple. Ick.

On feet that had an issue lifting off the ground, she made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen/dining area. She nearly bumped into Rick on her way in.

"Morning," he muttered, rubbing his face.

"I know the feeling," she yawned wide and proud.

"Are you hung-over?" Carl asked. Meg wasn't certain a kid his age knew what that meant. "Mom said you'd be." Ah, that was where he got the idea. Understandable.

"Mom is right," Rick admitted, taking a seat.

"Mom has that annoying habit," she joked, ripping up a piece of bacon.

Bacon? There was bacon?

Meg pulled up a chair next to Amanda, and saw that she had gotten her an extra plate. See? They took care of each other. The blonde gave the girl a nod, but other than that was quiet. Yeah, neither of them were very good morning people. Usually nonverbal communication was necessary prior to noon.

"Eggs," T-Dog announced. "Powdered, but – but I do 'em _good._"

Oh thank goodness, Meg was starving.

Just then, Glenn gave a great groan and Jacqui squeezed his shoulders in comfort.

"I bet you can't tell," T-Dog challenged the Korean. "Protein helps the hangover." The black man piled some yellow eggs onto Glenn's plate. All he did was continue to groan.

"Where'd all this come from?" Rick questioned, picking up his own piece of bacon.

"Jenner," Lori explained.

Meg stopped paying attention as T-Dog dropped some eggs onto her own plate. Without any hesitation, she scooped them up and shoved them into her mouth. She remembered, vaguely, hating eggs prior to the end of the world. Now they were little bits of heaven in her mouth. And the bacon. Lord, the bacon.

"Don't ever, ever, ever let me drink again," Glenn moaned once more. Meg reached over and poked him with her fork.

"I'm pretty sure I had at least five times as much as you did and I'm perfectly fine," Meg bragged. "Sucks to be Asian, right?" Meg joked.

"Shut. Up," he grit out.

Suddenly a voice interrupted her. "The hell happened to you?" T-Dog asked. Meg turned to see that Shane had a few moments before arrived. Nothing seemed amiss from her angle. It wasn't until T-Dog clarified, "Your neck," and Shane sat down that Meg was able to assess the damage.

"Those look like claw marks," she piped up. "Like someone just clawed at your neck."

Shane shrugged, "Must have done it in my sleep."

"Never see you do that before," Rick pressed. When had he ever seen Shane sleep, Meg wondered.

"Me neither," Shane took a sip of his coffee. "Not like me at all." When his eyes met Lori's across the table, Meg could feel her own narrow. Especially after Lori shifted her gaze away. What the hell had happened?

Jenner came strutting in, saying, "Morning."

"Hey, doc," Shane greeted first.

"Doctor," Dale spoke up. "I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing…"

"But you will anyway," Jenner finished as he poured his coffee. His tone was light enough that the group knew he didn't mind all that much. They were probably the first people he had been around for a long while. Last night he had been pretty overwhelmed, it seemed but now that he had gotten used to it – and was being much friendlier.

"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea finally finished.

Jenner turned to appraise the group and Meg was so intent on the doctor, she forgot that Daryl had been missing from breakfast until he walked right passed her line of sight. Immediately, she perked up and followed him with her eyes as he grabbed his own plate and sat down. Amanda coughed next to her to warn her that she was probably staring. Meg glanced down at her empty plate and then her friend, who regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

On their way into the main computer room, Amanda grabbed Meg's arm and looked her straight in the eye. "You left last night," she began.

"Left?" Meg furrowed her brows.

"You weren't in the room," she clarified.

"You were passed out," Meg grinned mischievously.

"I woke up to pee, you weren't in the room." Amanda glanced ahead of the group and then turned back to Meg. "Were you with Daryl?"

"Why would you think I was with Daryl?"

"Oh my God, Meg!" Amanda damn near threw her arms in the air in frustration. "I know you have a crush on him. God, you look at him like he's Jesus reincarnated."

"I do not," the other girl protested.

"You do." Then Amanda squeezed her arm tightly. "Meg, you can tell me."

"Nothing happened, honestly. Mostly I just embarrassed myself. He sent me to bed. But," Meg frowned. "He also said something pretty cryptic. I think he might like me, too."

Amanda gave her a nice long stare, before letting her go. "Well, you could do much worse. He's strong and noble, even if he is a bit of a hothead." Glancing off, Amanda finally decided, "He'll protect you."

"I can protect myself," Meg protested as Amanda began to catch up with the group.

"You keep thinking that," she threw over her shoulder.

They flooded into the computer room and situated themselves.

"Give me playback of TS-19," Jenner commanded.

"Playback of TS-19," VI announced.

The doctor turned to the group. "Few people ever got a chance to see this," he explained. "Very few."

The screen above them lit up and began blinking, before a human head and neck appeared. Meg was watching the pictures change when she felt the pressure of someone's eyes on her. Turning, she met Daryl's steady gaze. He gave her a little nod, but didn't move to come stand beside her. Then, she watched as his gaze traveled downward and a deep frown appeared on his face. Meg responded with a questioning frown of her own.

Carl's voice broke the tension. "Is that a brain?"

"An extraordinary one," Jenner added. "Not that it matters in the end. Take us in for EIV."

Meg watched Daryl cross the room.

"Enhanced internal view," VI broadcasted.

No one said much of anything as the screen zoomed into the brain. Beautiful lights danced in the person's extraordinary brain and Meg tried to remember what they were. Electrical impulses? Firing synapses? God, general education requirement biology did not prepare her for this shit.

"What are those lights?" Shane finally spoke up.

"A persons life," Jenner explained, resembling one of Meg's college professors giving a lecture. "Experiences, memories. It's everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is you. The thing that makes you unique. And human."

"You don't make sense, ever," Daryl spoke up, arms crossed. Well, Jenner really hadn't explained it very well to begin with. Those were pretty words but had nothing to do with biology.

"Those are synapses," he finally said. "Electric impulses in the brain that carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says, does, or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death." Meg felt a shiver run through her body.

"Death?" Rick asked, walked forward. "Is that what this is, a vigil?"

"Yes," Jenner turned wide eyes up to the screen. His voice was soft and wonderstruck. "Or rather, the playback of the vigil."

"This person died?" Andrea asked. "Who?"

"Test subject 19. Someone who was bitten and infected and volunteered to have us record the process," Jenner explained. Then he turned his attention to his computer. "VI, scan forward to the first event." The computer repeated his instructions.

Suddenly, the beautiful glowing brain was plagued by a black invader.

"What is that?" Glenn asked.

"It invades the brain, like meningitis," the doctor explained.

_But you can get a vaccine for meningitis, _Meg thought.

"The adrenal glands hemorrhage," he continued. "The brain goes into shut down, then the major organs." The head on the screen stopped moving. "Then death." Jenner was silent for a moment. "Everything you ever were or ever will be… gone."

No one was willing to ask it, except for little Sophia. "Is that what happened to Jim?"

"Yes," Carol answered her daughter, reaching for her hand.

Andrea flinched and looked down. Lori caught Jenner staring at the grieving sister and explained, "She lost somebody two days ago. Her sister."

"I lost somebody too," Jenner approached Andrea. "I know how devastating it is."

She glanced up, but said nothing.

"Scan to the second event," he commanded. "The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. In the case of this patient it was two hours, one minute… seven seconds."

Suddenly, bursts of red appeared near what Meg remembered to be the brain stem – the oldest part of the brain. Lori noticed the color too.

"It restarts the brain?" she asked.

"No, just the brain stem," he clarified. "Basically, it gets them up and moving."

"But they're not alive," Rick wanted to know.

Jenner pointed to the screen. "You tell me."

The cop just shook his head. "It's nothing like before." That was something everyone could agree with. "Most of that brain is dark."

"Dark. Lifeless. Dead," he agreed. "The frontal lobe, the neocortex – the human part. That doesn't come back. The _you_ part. Just a shell. Driven by mindless instinct."

A bright line cut across the head and remained. Meg jumped and she could even feel Amanda startle.

"God!" Carol let out. "What was that?"

"He shot is patient in the head," Andrea realized. Then she looked to him and asked, "Didn't you?"

Instead of answering, he had his computer shut the screen off.

"You have no idea what it is, do you?" Andrea asked, the frustration clear in her voice.

Under the group's stare he finally said, "It could be microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal."

"Or the wrath of God?" Jacqui interrupted. Meg glanced down at her hands, frowning.

"There is that."

Andrea wasn't willing to let that go. "Somebody must know something. Somebody, somewhere."

"There are others right?" Carol spoke up – a hint of hysteria in her voice. "Other facilities?"

"There maybe some," Jenner admitted. "People like me…"

Meg wrapped her arms around herself and tried to will the sound of her own heart beating to be a little softer. Mostly because it was invading her ears and making it difficult for her to think or even hear Rick berate Jenner or to hear Jenner's response. There was no one. The world was gone. They had each other. Why did she feel so… helpless? Almost instinctively, her eyes shot up to find Daryl. He was the one calm place. The steady presence. The body on the log beside her as she listened to Merle's cackle and Amanda's giggle. He was the creased eyes and reluctant smile and breathless chuckle. When had that happened?

And as his eyes found her as well she realized when that had happened: when she had seen his narrowed blue eyes reflecting the blinding sun, poised over a crossbow aimed at her.

His jaw set and he nodded at her, a silence assurance that alone didn't really mean alone.

"Dr. Jenner, I know this has been taxing for you," Dale began, not sounding at all apologetic. "And I hate to ask one more question, but… that clock. It's counting down." Meg turned to look at it, trying to ignore the fact that in this moment Dale had adopted the same inflection her own father often used when dealing with stupid people. "What happens at zero?"

"The…" Jenner hesitated. "The basement generators, they run out of fuel."

"And then?" Rick frowned. Jenner just kept walking so Rick turned to the computer. "VI, what happens when the power runs out?"

Her automated voice rang out, "When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur."

"Well," Meg spoke up. "That is vague."

Some of the men ran off. Meg went back to her room with Amanda in tow.

"What do you think that was all about?" her friend asked.

"No clue," Meg replied honestly. "I don't want to think about it." She looped her fingers through her belt loops and bumped the pill bottle. "Oh," she pulled it out and waved it in front of Amanda. "I have to return this. Be back."

This time she had no trouble remembering who she needed to talk to. Vaguely, she remembered that Daryl hadn't gone running off with the other men in favor of returning to his own room.

"Hey," she said the second he opened the door. "I'm here to give these back."

"Ya have to use 'em?" he asked, simultaneously taking the bottle back and opening the door fully so that she could come in. Meg didn't even hesitate, just walked right in.

"No," she shrugged. "I told you – genetics. I have an abundance of this one enzyme that breaks down acetic acid – the shit that causes hangovers."

Daryl tossed the bottle into his backpack and grabbed an open bottle of whiskey. "I just had ta stand there, listenin' ta that doc talk up a fuckin' storm 'bout all this science shit. Don't need another lesson." He took a swig of his whiskey.

Giving a hearty grin, Meg sat herself down on the sofa. She suddenly remembered something that had happened earlier today. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked. "You seemed a little off."

"Hm?" he wiped his mouth and squinted at her. Then, his gaze travelled down and he frowned again. Shaking his head, he said, "I'm fine."

But that was enough to give it away. She glanced down. She almost missed them, they were so light – but still present. Bruises on her upper arms. And if she placed Daryl's hands over them, she would bet anything they would fit perfectly. Using the posture of crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself to cover the marks she gave a huge shrug. "I'm fine, too."

Slowly, he turned to look at her. He searched her face and then finally nodded. Good! She was learning to speak Daryl-ese. One day she might be fluent!

"So what do you think?" she finally asked to change the subject. Also, she wanted his opinion on the events that had just transpired.

"'Bout what part a' that?"

"The fact that there is no central group trying to do anything … we're alone."

The hunter took another swig and situated himself on the couch. "Been alone most'a my life. Don't change much."

Meg nodded slowly, and brought her knees to her chest. "Question," she stated. "What did you say when I was leaving your room last night?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Ya mean ya didn't hear it?"

"I was very drunk. I'm trying to figure out if I imagined it."

"Ah." He took another swig. "Ya did."

Her feet dropped to the floor as she stared at him, open-mouthed and confused. It wasn't until he stared back at her, a slight twitch near the corner of his mouth that made his lips jump upwards momentarily, that she realized he was pulling her chain. Smacking his arm, she scolded, "That's just cruel. I bare my soul to you and you tease me. That's really not very nice."

"Eh," he put the bottle on the coffee table. "One thing ya got to know 'bout me – I'm not a nice person. Don't ya ever forget that."

She searched his face for a moment and then nodded. "I have no intention of making you into something you're not. I like you just the way you are." It felt nice to be able to say it so openly. Whatever had caught her tongue and made her so shy prior was slowly fading away.

He snorted. "'Fore all this, I doubt ya woulda looked at me twice."

"You're right," she shrugged. "I probably wouldn't have looked at you – more like snuck glances at you. And I wouldn't have realized what I was missing. It's weird how the world ending can put so many other things you'd normally not care about into such a clearer perspective." She frowned. "So much shit doesn't even begin to matter anymore. It's scary. But it's liberating." She realized she was rambling and decided to stop.

After a long moment of him just staring at her, he finally scooted closer. Bringing a hand to her face, he gently cradled her bruised jaw.

"This still hurt?" he asked.

"Not unless I poke it very hard," she smiled. "It just still looks bad." Her grin had drawn his attention to her mouth.

Gingerly, he leaned down and Meg let her eyelids flutter closed… until the lights went out. Shit, that wasn't good.

Daryl immediately pulled back and grabbed his bottle. Downing one last swig, he jumped up and headed for the door. "That doc was holdin' shit back," he said over his shoulder. "I'm bettin' this was it."

After taking a brief moment to feel disappointed that their time had been interrupted, Meg also sprung up to follow him.

"Why's everythin' turned off?" Daryl asked, swinging outside the door. Over his shoulder, Meg realized that Jenner was walking down the hallway all decked out in his lab coat.

"Energy use is being prioritized," he explained.

"Air isn't a priority? And lights?" someone asked. Meg was too busy to pay attention, instead looking for Mandy – who was pulling up the rear. With a last glance at the back of Daryl's head, she turned back to fall in step with her friend.

"What's going on?" Amanda asked, equally as confused about the situation.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Meg shrugged, glancing around. Everything was dark. And how far down were they? "I feel like we'll be finding out soon. Rick isn't going to let Jenner continue to be this ominous."

"Hey, hey!" Meg's ears perked up at the sound of the redneck's voice. "What tha hell does that mean?" Though they were too far a head for Meg to get a clear look at the two men at the front of the line, she realized Jenner must be continuing to keep mum as Daryl added, "Hey, man, I'm talkin' ta ya! What do ya mean it's shutting itself down?" What was shutting itself down? What the hell was going on? "How can a building do anything?"

"You'd be surprised," Jenner threw over his shoulder.

The men who had gone off investigating finally returned. That didn't make Meg feel better at all.

"Jenner, what's happening?" Rick stomped up to the doctor.

"The system is dropping all nonessential uses of power," Jenner simply recited. "It's designed to keep the computers running to the last possible second. That started as we approached the half-hour mark. Right on schedule," he pointed to the clock. They only had little more than a half-hour. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Jenner took a huge gulp of the whiskey he had taken from Daryl.

Yeah, something was very wrong.

Everyone glanced at each other without speaking. The night before, Jenner had rejected the hard liquor, saying her preferred wine. The fact that he was sipping whiskey straight was frightening. And so very wrong. When he handed Daryl back the bottle, he snapped it back and glared at the doctor. Then, the hunter glanced back to where Meg was standing with Amanda. He squinted at her. His hunter-senses were probably tingling.

"It was the French," Jenner finally said. When that didn't make sense to the group, he explained, "They were the last ones to hold out, as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs until the end."

The end?

"They thought they were close to a solution," he finished.

"What happened?" Jacqui ventured.

"The same thing that is happening here," Jenner just couldn't quit being ominous, could he? "No power grid. Ran out of juice," he shrugged. "The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?"

"Let me tell you," Shane hopped up the stairs, trailing after Jenner angrily. Rick intercepted him.

"To hell with it, Shane," he tried to hold his friend back.

"I don't even care," Shane pulled out of his grasp.

"Lori," Rick turned back to the group. "Grab our things. Everybody get your stuff. We're getting out of here, _now!"_

The group shuffled towards the doors, but they didn't make it out of them, as the room began blinking with red and alarms pierced the air around them. Meg just looked around in wonder as someone asked, "What is that?"

VI came to the rescue, "30 minutes to decontamination."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Yeah… I came through only a half an hour late. Like, don't even worry about it…**

**Also, bit of tear-jerker. Bring some tissues.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Daisy Duke, But Not Really

By: Ginny

* * *

"Decontamination?" Meg whispered and crossed herself. She found Daryl again and grabbed Amanda's arm to drag her over to the hunter. Almost immediately, Daryl put a hand on her shoulder to keep them all connected.

"Doc?" Daryl turned from the girl, to Jenner. "What's goin' on here?"

"Everybody, y'all heard Rick!" Shane hopped over to the group. "Grab your stuff and let's go! Go now!"

Meg didn't need to be told twice.

The group converged all towards the main hallway. And then the worst thing that could ever have happened, did. The large metal doors slid up and closed them off from leaving. Meg couldn't breath for a second – they were trapped now. They were stuck in this little metal cage and in half an hour, they would be decontaminated – whatever that meant.

"Daryl…" Meg turned to her protector.

The gravity of the situation seemed to hit everyone at once and they converged up to the pedestal with all the computers.

He pulled away from her and stalked towards the doctor. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted. Meg didn't even hear Rick tell Shane to grab Daryl, as he was the closest to the hunter. "You locked us in here! You lying –" Daryl was able to get a grip on the doctor, but was quickly grasped by Shane and T-Dog. They managed to constrain him.

Rick was much calmer as he approached, "Hey Jenner, open that door."

"There's no point," Jenner said. "Everything topside is locked down."

So… they were doubly locked in.

"Shit," Amanda whispered, and pulled herself from Meg's hand. With shaking feet, Mandy stumbled to the nearest computer station and sat down. She put her head in her hands and just let herself sag. Meg put a hand on her shoulder just to let her know she was here.

Fuck.

"I told you," Jenner was saying. "Once that front door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that." While that washed over the group – the fact that they hadn't been paying attention and had been tricked, Jenner glanced around. "It's better this way."

"What is?" Rick piped up. "What happens in 28 minutes?"

Jenner only stared a bit, before turning back to his computer. Rick and Shane shared a glance and then Shane said, "What happens?"

"Come on!" came Daryl's voice.

The men began to mob the doctor a bit.

Finally Jenner shot up. "You know what this place is?" he shouted. "We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out! Ever!" The man finally took a breath and readjusted his lab coat to get some of his composure back. No one said anything. They were in the CDC. What did they expect? Jenner sat down. "In the event of a catastrophic power failure – in a terrorist attack, for example, H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

That didn't sound good.

Rick asked for clarification and VI spoke up, "H.I.T.s: high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum pressure effect ignites the oxygen at between 5,000 degrees and 6,000 degrees and is useful when the greatest loss of life and damage to structure is desired."

Jenner put it simply. "It sets the air on fire."

Meg didn't know she had dropped until her knees banged against the floor and she slid down against the computer area. They were going to die here.

Within a second, she felt hands on her shoulders and at first she thought those hands were attached to Amanda's arms, that she had come to comfort her. But as she glanced at the person from under a curtain of fringe, she realized it was Daryl. He pushed her bangs from her face and flickered from eye to eye, making sure she was conscious. Meg only spared Amanda a brief look, realizing that the girl was listening to what Jenner was preaching with avid attention.

Then she looked to the hunter. "We're going to die here," she told him. The tears finally came and spilled onto Daryl's forearms.

"No, we ain't," he shook her a bit.

"We survived the zombies. We survived the wild. We survive it all only to die here," she just kept speaking. "Like animals in a cage, being put down."

"Ya listen ta me, Meg," he snarled, reaching up to grab her hair and pull a bit. "We ain't gonna die here."

But Meg's gaze just drifted to the clock counting down. "Twelve minutes," she said simply.

With one last snarl, the Dixon hopped up and ran at the closed door. Meg heard the bottle hit and shatter, but she kept her head locked in between her knees, trying to block out the other people's soft crying.

"He's right."

Meg glanced up, startled by the sound of Amanda's declaration. "What?" she asked.

Vaguely, she could hear Daryl demanding that the door be open. Then she heard the banging as Shane and her hunter tried to demolish the door with axes. Like that was going to do anything.

"What's out there?" Amanda asked. "Death. My family is gone, Meg. They are all dead. We both know that. We're alone. All I have left is you. All you have left is me… and maybe Daryl. All I ever do is burden you, Meg. How many tests did you "forget" to study for so that you could trail after me at parties and make sure I didn't die? I'm not going to survive out there. It's better this way."

"Well yer head ain't!"

Daryl's voice announced his intentions for violence before she was even able to turn around and witness him try to get at Jenner – axe raised high. Meg was on her feet before Dale, Rick and T-Dog were able to hold him back.

"Just back up! Back up!" T-Dog shouted as the men wrenched the axe from his hands and pushed him away. The hunter did a small spin and then stalked off, eyes on his escaped prey the whole time.

Meg left Amanda's side, not sure what to make of her talk – knowing only that it gave her a nasty feeling right in the back of her throat. Instead she came to stand beside Daryl, slipping a hand around his wrist and halting his pacing. He frowned at her, but allowed her to keep him in one place.

"There is no hope," Jenner was saying. "There never was."

Her boldness and her need for comfort growing with Jenner's words, she removed her hand from his wrist and instead slipped it around her waist. Once again, he allowed her to press herself against his body. After only a moment, he threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her even closer.

"There's always hope," Rick shot back. "Maybe it won't be you, maybe not here, but somebody somewhere."

"What part of "everything is gone" do you not understand?" came Andrea's voice from the floor.

"Fuck," Daryl growled and pulled Meg just a bit closer as she pressed her face into his neck.

"Listen to your friend," Jenner said. "She gets it. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event."

"No," the words popped from Meg's mouth as she pulled away from Daryl. Her fear was still there, but it was being replaced by anger. "Look at us! We've already adapted. We know how to kill these monsters! This isn't our _extinction event_ – it's population control! You're a scientist, you must have studied Malthus! This will force our numbers down to a more manageable size, but it's not permanent! Once we regroup, once we get back on our feet – and it's been less than six months since the first one made an appearance, so yeah, we were a bit unprepared. But you can't tell me that we won't be able to adapt and eventually destroy them! And then, we'll need all the living humans we can get!"

Jenner just stared at her, shaking his head. Meg kicked a computer station and walked away.

"This isn't right!" came Carol's sob. "You can't just keep us here!" Jenner tried to placate her, but she wasn't having it. "My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this!"

"Wouldn't it be kinder?" he tried to argue. "More compassionate to just hold your loved ones and wait for the clock to run down?"

Meg wiped the tears from her face and tried to keep her sobs as quiet as possible. Hugging herself tightly, she sought comfort in herself. The clock was counting. She was dying where she was standing.

"Shane, no!"

The girl startled and watched as Shane approached them with a gun, saying, "Out of the way, Rick! Stay out of my way!" No one stopped him as he shoved the gun in his face. "Open that door or I'm gonna blow your head off, you hear me?"

"Brother, brother," Rick said. "This is not the way to do this."

"It's what he want," Meg put in. "To die. Why help him?"

"Shane, you listen to him," Lori added.

"It's too late," Shane argued.

"He dies, we all die," Rick was trying to explain.

The man gave a loud, inhuman yell and shot up the computers. Meg hit the ground, her ears ringing with the bullets. Sparks flew and she was so scared. Rick wrestled the gun from Shane's grasp and smacked him across the face with it, knocking him to the ground. Gingerly, Meg rose again and caught Daryl's look. She responded with a nod, a silent announcement that she was fine. Physically.

"Are you done now?" Rick wanted to know. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, I guess we all are!" Shane threw back.

Flinching, Meg met Rick's gaze as he looked around the group. They were all looking to him for some way out and he knew it. God, she knew that feeling – making the hard decisions and hoping you don't get everyone killed. Speaking of people she was trying to keep alive, she stumbled over to her friend.

The first thing she noticed was that Amanda looked so peaceful. Staring at the wall, her mouth was slightly open and her face was devoid of any tearstains. Something was wrong.

"Amanda?" When she didn't respond, Meg shook her a bit. "Mandy?" she asked. "Hey!"

"Hey," she answered softly.

"Are… are you okay?"

Amanda glanced down at her relaxed hands and then nodded. "I… yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking about some things. You know, I really do think it's all okay. We'll just sit here and hold each other and then it'll all be over."

"No, no, no," Meg knelt in front of Amanda. "It doesn't work like that, Mandy. We have to keep living. We can't give up."

"It's not giving up…" Amanda trailed off. "Look at him," she giggled a bit. Meg turned to find that Daryl had begun trying to break down the door again. "Trust a Dixon to think if he pounds hard enough he'll break down a door meant to withstand a rocket launcher." Her smile turned sad. "Look how he survives. He just struggles to survive." She turned back to her friend. "You want to survive, don't you? You think you can survive out there. I think you can survive out there, too…"

Meg ignored the rest of the room, lifting her hands to cradle Amanda's face. "What are you saying? Of course I want to survive."

"I know," Amanda sighed and leaned into her hand. "I want you to survive, too. I'm sorry you're here."

"I'm… I'm sorry you're here. I'm sorry we're all here," she gestured to the group.

But Amanda just shook her head. "No, I'm not sorry I'm here. It's perfect, Meg. My last twenty-four hours, I had a delicious meal, great wine, I got shitfaced, I let you take care of me – just like old times, I woke up after sleeping soundly for the first time in ages, I had a fantastic breakfast and now… And now I get to close my eyes, and hold your hands and wake up with my family."

"This isn't what you want!" Meg argued, her voice spiking.

"It is." She was so calm.

"It can't be," Meg let go of Amanda's face and clenched her friend's hands instead.

"But it is," she repeated simply.

"Come on!" Daryl screamed. But Meg was too focused on her friend to care what he was yelling about.

"Oh, look," Amanda smiled. "The doors are opened."

Meg flipped around. Everyone was running to the exit. "Then let's go!" She rose to her feet and tried to drag Amanda with her. The blonde was like dead weight.

"Meg!" Daryl called.

"Hey! We've got four minutes!" Glenn shouted.

Four minutes.

"I'm coming!" she shouted back to the hunter.

"I don't think I can survive out there. I wasn't made for this world, Meg." Amanda shrugged. "Wasn't made for any world. Since my first heart surgery, I knew I was living on borrowed time and I knew one day I would owe that time to someone else."

"We gotta go now, Meg!" she heard.

"I don't understand," Meg felt the tears falling until each trail met at her chin.

"I owe _you_ that time. I'm a burden. You went into that city and nearly got killed because of my medication. I will only slow you down." Amanda gently pulled her hands from Meg's grip.

No, no, no. When had this happened? When had this girl begun to think like this? Why wasn't it Meg who was getting all on her high-horse ready to be a martyr for the cause? When had Amanda taken that on herself and decided these things? Why hadn't Meg been watching her more carefully? Would she have been able to notice it in her eyes – a glint that spoke volumes about the path she would take? Meg felt her heart shake under her ribs and even when Daryl grabbed her, it was Amanda's passive face she saw.

Twisting, she pushed Daryl away.

"Go," she told him. "I'll be right there – we'll be right there."

He hesitated for only a second and then took off, taking up the rear of the group. Vaguely, Meg realized that Dale and Andrea were arguing and Jacqui was sitting quietly.

Meg didn't kneel back down and Amanda craned her neck to meet her gaze.

"You can't _want _to die," the brunette said.

"I don't," she shrugged. "But I know that I will die if I leave here. And it will be a terrible death and I will probably end up killing you, too. I couldn't bear to think about bringing you down with me. You don't deserve that."

"Amanda."

"No!" For the first time some emotion lit up her face. "You have always told me what to do when you thought it was in my best interest. And I listened to you. You have always taken care of me, but it's my turn to take care of you!"

"You do take care of me," Meg tried to argue, her voice losing it's power as sobs pounded her body. "You always take care of me. Please don't think you haven't. Please don't give up."

"I'm not giving up –"

"Yes you are!"

"I'm giving in."

"Same thing!"

"Meg, I told you, borrowed time is what I've been living on." Amanda stood up to wrap her arms around her friend. "I'm giving that time to you. It's something I've been thinking about for a while, but I didn't know who would take care of you after I left. But Daryl will protect you."

_He'll protect you._ Those words bounced around in her head… she had said them just this morning? Had it only been half a day ago? Even before they'd been locked in, Amanda had been thinking this way. Planning. Waiting for the opportunity to leave.

"Go," Amanda released her. "Survive. Outlive those monsters and repopulate." Then her hands came up to hold Meg's face. "And don't forget about me."

"Never," Meg breathed.

Amanda pressed a kiss to her forehead and then let her friend go.

With a shaky breath, Meg took off towards the door trying to not let the tears cloud her vision too much.

It wasn't until she as in the main hallway that she remembered she hadn't looked at how much time she had left. But, she didn't want to turn back – didn't want to waste what little time she had and didn't want to see her friend sitting, waiting to die. So, she pushed oxygen into her legs and sprinted.

Footsteps behind her had her twisting around, hoping that Amanda had changed her mind. No, it was Andrea and Dale. The older man had done what Meg had failed to do: he had convinced her to come back, to survive.

Reaching the exterior room, Meg quickly noticed the broken glass – so, they had got through! Sliding under the panels, Meg helped steady Andrea as she followed and the three took off towards the cars. She tried not to step on the dead bodies, but her foot hit a decapitated head and she fell to the ground. Then, the severed head shut its mouth with a _click_, before opening its lips again. Fuck! It was a walker that hadn't been properly disposed of. Dale yanked her up and pushed her on so she didn't have time to think too hard.

"Get down!" They heard Rick shout and immediately their bodies threw themselves over the barricade and Dale held onto both of them as their world rocked.

First it was so cold, all of the air just froze and then the heat hit her full force, pricking at her flesh. Her world went red and she cried out, pressing more closely to Dale.

"_Cremation," Amanda decided, as she gazed at her lit cigarette. "That's what I want. Just burn my body."_

_Meg took a swig of her Jack and Coke. "Why?"_

"_Just seems cleaner that way. Don't wanna take up too much space in the ground. Plant a tree, instead."_

"_What if they burn you alive?"_

"_What if they bury you alive?"_

"_I'll climb out."_

"_You'll suffocate."_

"_You'll dig me up."_

"_Probably. Or I'll pay someone. Especially if I just had my nails done."_

"_I'd expect nothing less." Meg stared at her drink and swirled it a bit. "Don't know what I'd do without you."_

"_Well, duh. You'd be so lost."_

"_Perfectly, cluelessly, lost."_

"_But you'll make sure I'm cremated?"_

"_Tell your parents, not me. I can't do anything."_

"_They already have a cute little family plot set up. That was an interesting birthday gift," she chuckled around her cigarette. "You'll need to fight for me."_

"_But what if they burn you alive?"_

"_If they fuck up and burn me alive, then you'll never know," she flicked her ashes. "Does that make you feel better?"_

"No," Meg whispered, as she pulled her head up and watched the inferno circle around. Momentarily a thought occurred to her: How many of her tears would it take to put that fire out?


End file.
